Twisted
by SimpleRhapsody
Summary: Parker had her life destroyed 2 years ago when she was in a fatal accident involving a certain blue and red semi truck, leaving her family dead. When it comes time for the revenge she craves, she'll discover that her "saviors" may just be twisted. OP/OC
1. Chapter 1

**NOTE: Okay, so in all honesty, I have no idea when this takes place. I have no idea who will show up in it, I'm just kind of writing as I go. And I also don't know much about transformers, so bare with me, mkay? I'm kind of using this story to improve my writing and keep me from getting rusty, so reviews are appreciated. I hope you guys like it, whoever's reading this, and thanks so much for reading!**

**Let me know if you want me to continue. I'm writing this to improve my skills, like I said, but if no one's reading then I just won't post. Thanks again!**

**Oh PS: Yes, I know the difference between Autobots and Decepticons, trust me. Parker's just being manipulated.**

They all thought that I was gone.

But I wasn't lost—not, at least, in the sense that they thought I was. I was there, but I wasn't there. I flickered, lingering in the breath between two instants, unseen, unheard, unnoticed. Invisible.

Nothing.

I'd started to believe them, too. That somehow this was all wrong, that maybe I had missed the shuttle to the _Other Side._

I lingered, tethered between this world and that with no reflection, no shadow, no visible body. They—the professionals, that is—called it an _out of body experience_. I was pretty sure, at the time, that that's what I'd been having. I watched myself from the outside—my body was splayed out on the pavement, blood pooling beneath my head. My dark eyes were wide open, almost comical, staring. My small lips were parted, trembling as my chest heaved desperately, unable to draw enough air into my lungs.

Blood frothed at my mouth, a sick gurgling slithering from my lips every time I inhaled or exhaled. The reason was obvious: a shard of glad was stuck in my throat, slicing it open. I couldn't breathe around it. Even from my stance outside my body, I could feel the pain. I grabbed at my throat, this version of me unharmed, and collapsed on my knees beside myself.

The paramedics hadn't arrived yet. I crouched down, glancing around, screaming for someone, anyone to please help me. No one could hear me. No one responded. My mother, from inside the car, was trapped and sobbing, her bloodied hand reaching out to me through the broken glass, her fingers so far from mine.

How had I ended up outside the car, anyway? I hadn't been wearing a seatbelt, but was it even _possible_? I'd been hurtled so far. I couldn't bear to look at myself. I stepped away from my struggling body on the ground and knelt beside my screaming mother, her hair tumbled and tangled in glass, one hand braced against the ceiling of our upside down car. I'd never seen her cry like this. In the back seat, my twin brother was crying and struggling with the seatbelt that had locked him in place.

"Hold on," I begged. "Please, hold on. Help's coming. Help's coming."

But it was taking so long. My mother called my name in a weak voice. She must have known I was going to die with that shard in my throat. It wouldn't be long before I drowned in my own blood. I felt sick to my stomach and staggered away, catching sight of the car we'd crashed into.

Of course. It explained everything. No wonder our car was mangled, flipped. No wonder I'd been thrown out. We'd been up against a gigantic purple semi painted with _atrocious_ red flames. Even in death, all I could think was that whoever'd designed that truck needed to be shot. Repeatedly.

We'd really screwed up freeway traffic, too. It was stopped—we had so many witnesses. God only knew how many children were being horrified by this mess.

I glanced up at the semi again. The windshield was cracked, the front a little dented, but aside from that it hadn't in anywhere near as bad of shape as our poor Suburban was.

"Parker." At the sound of my name from between my brother's gritted teeth, I turned. "_Parker!_ Oh, _God_, Parker!"

"Savannah!" I breathed, running over to him. I grabbed his hand, but mine slipped right through his. "Savannah, I'm here, I'm right here. Hold on, please hold on, please."

I ripped away from him and staggered out into the street, screaming.

"Help!" I cried. "Somebody please help us!" I ran for the semi, but there was no one in it. God, I hoped the driver had gone for help. Please let him have gone for help.

Please.

Just as I'd finished thinking, I heard the sound of sirens, a high, keening wail. A lime green emergency vehicle raced onto the scene, skidding to a halt. The doors flew open and men spilled out. They were everywhere, like ants, and they swarmed the scene. They focused on me the most, lifting me gently onto a stretcher, rolling me inside. I could only watch from outside, the concrete warm and hard beneath my feet. I didn't go with them. Instead, I lingered, yelling at them to help my family, to help my family, please just help them. I watched as they pulled my brother—my life, my everything, my other half—gingerly from the car.

I loved him. More than anything else in the world, I loved _him_. We'd never been separated. I couldn't leave him then, and he couldn't leave me. One of us without the other… it just wasn't right.

"Savannah," I breathed in his ear as they get him on a stretcher. "Savvy, stay with me, buddy. Stay with me. I mean if you go… if you go, who am I gonna make fun of, huh? Come on, bud, come on Sav, just stay. I'm right here, don't worry about me. Come on, baby sister."

I threw in the last part out of habit—an old joke between us. When we'd been born, our father had mixed up our birth certificates, naming is the wrong names. As a girl, I should have been Savannah Rook, and he should have been Parker Rook. Instead, I was Parker, and he was Savannah.

"Parker," he cried, struggling on the stretcher. "_Parker!_ Where's my sister? _Where is she?_ Is she okay? You have to help her. _Leave me alone!_"

The men had to hold him down as he wiggled and writhed, smearing a little blood.

The last thing I remember of that day was my brother's voice, screaming himself hoarse. I never saw him again.

Only a couple of years have passed since the accident, only a couple of years since they'd taken _everything_ from me—my mother, my brother, my voice, and any trace of sanity I'd had. In place of the sanity is _rage_—a deep, all-consuming rage, burning like a fire, taking out everything with it. It's destructive, violent. It makes me cruel. It's the sort of thing that, when it rises, leaves me blind.

The only thing on my mind anymore is revenge, and it's something they've promised me. I'd get revenge on the ones who took my life—it'd have been better if I really had died. Instead, I'm stuck here, living without them.

"Parker Rook."

"Hmm?" I glance up from the novel I'm reading into glaring red eyes. "Oh. What do you want?"

"He wants a word with you."

I sit up and fold my page, stretching my legs. With an angry hiss, the gigantic robot reaches through my door and snatches me none too gently about the waist.

"Cade!" My voice is horribly raspy. I sound like I've got a permanent case of laryngitis, but it can't be helped. "Put me _down_!"

Cade—that's short for Barricade—growls and carries me anyway, treating me like I'm an animal, swinging me at his side. I struggle, but I know it's no use. He's a million times stronger than I'll ever be, so I just hang there until he sets me on my feet in front of a pair of very familiar, clawed, metal feet. I crane my neck back, already knowing the owner.

"Be gone," he says in a deep voice and Cade scuttles away. I grin.

"Megs," I say in a low, dry rasp. "How can I help you?"

I know he doesn't particularly like the nickname—hates it, in fact—but he loves me and it doesn't really matter. Besides, he has his own nicknames for me. As long as I don't use these names in front of everyone else, we're fine.

"Rook," he pinches my waist between two gigantic fingers and lifts me to eye level. I wince at the pain and he loosens his grip slightly. "I forget how delicate you are," he says, and it's not really an apology but it'll do. He draws me around to his shoulder and drops me there.

I'm used to this position, so it's easy for me to find my balance. Making sure we're in private, I lean my head against one of his cold metal head-plates, tapping my fingers against it. _Rattatattatat._

"Stop that," he says, and I do it one more time. _Rattatattatat._ And then I stop.

"So," I say, clicking one fingernail against him impatiently. I hear him rumble and know he's annoyed.

"There is something I need from you, my bird," he says in that deep, grating voice.

"Anything," I manage to choke out. God, sometimes I really miss the days when my voice was normal.

"It involves the Decepticons."

My hairs all stand on end and my fingernails scrape against his metal. I hear him chuckle and resist the urge to bare my teeth.

"I thought you'd be excited, little bird."

The Decepticons. The ones who caused the accident, ruined my life. Since Megs's men had saved me from them that day, fighting me out of the lime emergency vehicle, he'd filled me in on everything. The one we'd collided with, Optimus Prime, was there leader. The one holding me captive, the one who'd taken my mother and my brother had been their torture specialist, Ratchet. He'd told me about others—Ironhide, Sideswipe, many others, and I'd memorized them all. I'd memorized the entire story.

Megs—that's Megatron—and the Autobots, the ones who had saved me, had been trying to save their planet, to revive it. But Optimus and Decepticons like him had stood in their way, wanted to take over, to end the planet. Because of the Decepticons, their home planet, Cybertron, had been destroyed.

Because of them, my life had been destroyed. Megs and I have a lot in common that way.

"Explain," I grate.

And he explains it all to me, taking me in one hand and allowing me to sit snugly in his palm while he gently strokes my hair and my spine with one careful finger—almost like I really am some sort of delicate bird. Though, by his standards, I am. One wrong move and I'd be crushed.

His plan is so simple that it almost isn't a plan at all. Basically, he would have one of his men stage an attack on me when he knew the Decepticons were near—that way, the self-righteous Decepticons would think they were saving me—and they would take me to their base, or somewhere near them. Simple as that. I would feed them some sad story, change my name, beg never to be left alone because I was so scared of the giant robots… and, with any luck, they would take me in.

Megs is certain that it'll work, believing that, like he and his Autobots, the Decepticons wouldn't stand for the torture of a human. Guess my family didn't count. Eventually, when I got close enough, I would feed Megs information. I'd be his spy, and, eventually, we would bring them down.

In Megs's palm, I'm practically wriggling with excitement. He wiggles his fingers around me, tapping me.

"Excited, my bird?"

"Yes," I manage.

"You can finally have the vengeance you've been craving for two years, child."

"Yes," I gasp. He scratches the top of my head, taps my damaged throat.

"You remember what they did to you?"

"Yes," it's only a small breath, but I know he can hear it. Curling his fingers in, he catches my chin with a finger and tilts my head toward him, leaning in close to me. I lean forward too, pressing my forehead to the space between his eyes.

"It's time."

I smile softly. "When can I leave?"

He pulls me away and, like I'm a bird, places me on his shoulder again. It's the one place in the world where I'm most comfortable. I don't lean against him this time, however, because we're walking out of the gigantic room—a storage room? I have no idea. We move around too often to be sure—and into the larger holding area where all the other Autobots are.

"Barricade," he barks, his voice so loud I would flinch if I wasn't used to it. Barricade approaches, red eyes focused on me. Megs explains the plan to him, and within a couple of hours I'm loaded into Cade, in his cop-car form, with nothing but the clothes on my back.

Megs, before setting me on the ground one last time, strokes my back just once, gently, a silent good-bye. I grab one finger only for a moment before shooting him a grin and climbing into Cade's back seat. I give him a thumbs up and I can practically hear his eyes rolling.

"Barricade," I hear him say as Cade starts his ending. We wait. Megs's voice is hard and firm, almost scary. Almost. But Cade trembles beneath me. "_Do not_ allow _any_ harm to befall her."

And then we're driving away.

I've got four ear piercings in my left ear and two in my right. The top two on my left sit close enough that the top stud has been wired, allowing Megs, Cade, and anyone else to communicate with me as needed. The stud below it allows them to hear whatever is going on.

As we drive, Cade fills me in on a few more details. In a couple of days I'll let them know, via earring, if I think we need to meet. If we do, we will at a place that we've decided. If not, then we don't.

I spend most of the drive in my own head, thinking about my story, about what I need to do and who I need to become. I glance at myself in the rearview mirror and wince, trying to find within myself the girl I need to become.

I've never been one for weakness. Since Megs had taken me in, I'd completely given up the whole wimpy, girly, boo-hoo crying thing. Megs had made me strong, a warrior. I'd trained both physically and mentally, all for this day. I had to be convincing. I had to succeed.

I glance in the mirror again, forcing myself to look. It's hard; every time I see myself in a mirror, I see Savannah, too. His dark eyes had been identical to mine, same shade, same shape. I just have longer lashes, and he fuller brows—or at least he had, when he was alive. We'd shared the same dark, curly hair, the same dark skin and strong jaw. People had always told us that, though we weren't identical (due to gender, obviously), we shared the same face.

Of course, the scars on my throat and abdomen tell a story, I think, snapping myself out of my reverie. I need to think up a false story for them, along with my identity.

Cade moves the mirror so I can't see, and I punch the seat. He continues to wiggle it around even as I grab it. I growl, a low, husky noise, and he revs the motor.

"Asshole," I mutter, then sigh.

Megs's voice rasps in my ear, making me jump, but I quickly settle myself down.

"Hmm?"

"Almost there."

"Gotcha, Captain."

"Don't let me down, little bird."

"Not a chance."

He disconnects and I sigh. Let him down? Never. He is the one person—robot—what_ever_, the only one in my life who I care about. I love him. He is my family, everything. He'd taken me in, saved my life, fixed me up and trained me, and was now giving me the revenge, the closure I'd been craving.

There is not a single living being in this world that I love more than him, and, aside from his occasional harshness, he has never once treated me poorly. He has spoiled me.

No. I _will_ _not_ let him down.

**NOTE: OK so that's chapter 1. Hope you liked it! Here's a little preview of the first sentences of chapter 2. Let me know if ya want it! Reviews are much appreciated.  
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**Preview:**

_I shriek—which is quite painful and nearly impossible, considering my throat—and dive to the ground as dirt and rock fly up around me, hitting me in the back as I cover my head._

"_Jesus, Cade," I mutter. "Take it easy!"_

"_Be more convincing!" He charges me, knocks me to the side, and tosses me up in the air. I'm screaming… well, sort of. My voice keeps cutting out like I've got a bad connection on a cell phone._


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I only own Parker Rook and the plot. Nothing else.**

**Note: Okay, thanks so much for the reviews, you're great! So I like this chapter. I like the interaction between Parker and Bumblebee. One of my biggest pet peeves with Transformers fics is that, when people use Bumblebee and he has his voice problem, somehow, when he uses the radio to talk, he **_**ALWAYS makes perfect sense**_** and the words always work out perfectly. I don't know about you guys, but when I was watching the movies, a couple of times it took me a minute to understand what he had said. So I'm going to do that in this story. This chapter is longer, as was requested. Excuse any typos, I'm exhausted. Enjoy!**

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><p>I shriek—which is quite painful and nearly impossible, considering my throat—and dive to the ground as dirt and rock fly up around me, hitting me in the back as I cover my head.<p>

"Jesus, Cade," I mutter. "Take it easy!"

"Be more convincing!" He charges me, knocks me to the side, and tosses me up in the air. I'm screaming… well, sort of. My voice keeps cutting out like I've got a bad connection on a cell phone.

"Come here, plaything," he coos in a terrifying voice as I hit the ground and struggle away. I can't help but think he's enjoying this a little too much, and as he lowers his face close to me, I kick him beneath an eye. He roars and slams both wheel-hands down beside me.

"Get away from me! _Help!_" I cry as I struggle, kicking him again. And this time I almost start to laugh. It's just like training. Maybe he's not the only one enjoying this a little too much.

"Stop laughing," he growls. "Do I need to _force_ you?"

"I deserve a god-damned _Oscar_ for this," I say around a grin as I flip over, clawing at the earth in an attempt to flee the massive, terrible robot. Just as I'm getting to my feet, he hits me _hard_, and I go flying a few feet before slamming into the ground. All of the air whooshes out of my lungs, leaving me stunned and temporarily paralyzed. I can only blink away the stars dancing in my eyes as I roll slowly to one side and curl up.

"What the f—"

He cuts me off, stomping mere inches away from my face, clawed toes digging in as he bears down on me, snarling. I scramble backward with a gasp.

"Your acting could use a little work, _my bird_," he mocks. My eyes narrow. "Put more _feeling_ into it. This isn't at all realistic. Remember the first time you met me?"

As if I could forget it. I stumble to my feet, pretending I'm back to that day again, pretending like this isn't all just a big game, one of the many fights Cade and I have gotten into. When my feet find traction, when my lungs gather air, I take off at a sprint, running as hard and fast as I can.

Cade laughs and the earth trembles as he steps after me, having given me a slight head-start. The shaking he creates nearly knocks me to my knees, but I manage to stay stable. Another blow—did he just _flick me_? Really?—sends me down hard, and I scratch my elbows. His laugh makes me want to snarl, and I _know_ he's having way too much fun with this. I can't fight him. I'm not an idiot, I wouldn't dream of fighting him, not without a tank on my side, so I run again.

"Where are you going?" His voice is high, as raspy and throaty as mine.

I ignore him and take off, heading for the trees; both because I'm already tired of the abuse and because I figure if we knock out a few trees we'll draw more attention. But honestly, wasn't the point of this that the Decepticons were _close_? As in less abuse for Parker?

Apparently not, and I'm seriously getting sick of the mad glint in Cade's eye every time he manages to send me sprawling. Blood oozes from a cut on my arm, and I can feel it warm on my cheek.

One of the great things about being trained with and by the Autobots is that, though I'm not slender by any means—I've no idea why—I've got the best stamina. I can run for for_ever_, and though I absolutely hate running and strenuous work—Cade must've rubbed off on me here—I can keep going and going.

A tree just to my left blows up, and this time my strangled cry is genuine. My heart is pounding in my throat as I flinch to my right, and Cade hits me again, sending me into another tree. My head snaps back against the trunk and I lean against it for support.

"Stop it!" I snarl, and his wheel-hand pins my body to the tree. I scream and he presses harder, so I scream again. I swear, after this I won't be able to speak for _days_. My throat is already crying out in silent protest, feeling like it's on fire. With his other hand he catches at my pants leg and drags me away. I flip over, clawing at the dirt, twisted pieces of bark wedging themselves beneath my nails. And this time I genuinely do try my hardest to fight him, though I know it won't make a difference.

The thing about Cade is that he's more than a little psychotic. And while he's a good… well, I wouldn't go so far as to say _friend_ or _acquaintance_. But while he's a good ally, he tends to get carried away. Though it has made me stronger, he usually fails to see where the line between training and brutality rests.

He draws me up into the air, slicing the back of my leg and throwing his head back to look at me. I can feel blood running up my leg now, over my calf and thigh. He laughs and swings me around as I scream, dropping me suddenly. I hit the ground and stars explode before my eyes again as I struggle back to my feet.

One time, after the Autobots and I had moved again, I'd found a cat hanging around the abandoned base where we'd been staying. I'd watched the cat for a long time; the thing was hideous, eaten with mange, riddled with scars, its skin practically writhing with fleas and parasites. And one time the cat had found a small mouse, and he had literally played it to death. He would bat it around a bit, then sit back and relax, watch the mouse try to run. And once the mouse had thought it had found freedom, he would pounce again.

After a long time, I finally ended it. I kicked the cat out of the way and crushed the mouse with the heel of my sneaker, then kicked the corpse aside. The cat hadn't been too pleased.

The way Cade is toying with me now reminds me _exactly_ of how the cat had played with the mouse. I know it's cliché and old and _blah_, but I can't help but think about it, and I can't help but wonder if, rather than "rescue" me, one of the Decepticons will just squish me to get it over with.

I scream again—and I must say, it's my best one yet. My vocal chords are stronger today, that's for sure—and Cade kind of kicks me, sending me flying. I hit the ground and roll as I've been taught to do, this time tasting dirt in my mouth. My shirt catches on a branch and rips, and I wonder how long we've been going at it. Maybe we should just call it quits.

Cade steps on me then, crushing all the air out of my body, making me squeak. I claw at his hard metal foot, and I'm trapped between two toes. He presses more firmly, and I'm sure my ribs are cracking. My eyes water.

"Much better," he snarls in my face, bringing his down very close to mine. "This is much more fun, isn't it?"

"He's going to kick your ass," I snarl, and he pushes again, making me choke. He knows I'm talking about Megs. "He said you couldn't—_argh!_—hurt me!"

"I'm getting sick," he says in a low, icy voice, "of _you_, you filthy animal."

"Asshole," I spit. The studs in my ear are silent, and I realize they must be off. Of course.

He just roars, his head tilting back, body trembling with his laughter. Just as he lifts his foot to kick me I roll out of the way, scramble to my feet, and run between his legs. I pick a direction, through the thinnest parts of the trees, and run hard and fast, knowing that if I can reach a public place, somewhere people might see, Cade might back off. It's worth a shot. Because Cade is constantly doing this, constantly losing himself. There's a loose cannon in every group, yes, but he can be terrifying.

And it comes out of nowhere: a _gigantic_ black foot, familiar only in that I know it belongs to something not of this earth. But it lacks the harsh claws I've grown accustomed to with the Autobots. It nearly crushes me as I duck behind freshly fallen tree, knowing with all of my heart, with everything inside of me, that they've come. The Decepticons are finally here.

The one who nearly squished me, the black one, looks like a walking arsenal and I know that this is Ironhide. Megs had said that he was their best warrior, a threat, and that he should be eliminated. I took note. There is another one just behind him, but Ironhide is in the way and I can't make him out too clearly, so I have no idea who he is.

I watch from my shelter in silence for a moment, trying to come to grips with what is happening. The plan _worked_. Part of me was expecting the Decepticons not to show up, but here they were. Maybe they had been near, as Megs had said, or maybe they had sensed Cade. I wonder if they've seen me.

There's a lot of booming and clanging and the shriek of metal grating metal fills the air, along with a lot of swearing. I almost forget that I'm playing a role, so when I know the battle is almost over, I come out of my shelter and bolt right past them, making sure they see me, screaming "_Oh my God, oh my God!_" over and over again, throwing in a few of my own swears.

I'm almost crushed a couple of times, leaving me, again, to be thankful for my training; otherwise I wouldn't have been able to dodge them and I'd have been crushed. As I dodge another massive foot a huge hand suddenly seizes me from the ground and holds me high, out of harm's way. It only takes me a moment to realize it's Ironhide; the other Decepticon is fighting with Cade. He holds me at eye level, watching me silently.

And then I start screaming again and thrashing, demanding that he put me down, having just a little fun with the drama of it all. He tucks me close to his chest and fires another shot at Cade who, upon making eye contact with me, turns and flees.

"Follow him!" Ironhide barks, and the other Decepticon obeys.

Time for me to do my best acting job yet. I become hysterical, as would be the normal reaction for a girl my age having just been tormented by an "evil" alien robot and "rescued" by two more. I have to remind myself of the first day with the Autobots, of the fear, of the loss and confusion, and, with little struggling, I force the tears to come.

I almost hate myself for it. I don't _believe_ in crying, but here we are. I struggle in Ironhide's fist, kicking the metal plates on his chest, screaming.

"What is going on?" I demand. "Oh my _God_, what is going on? _Put me down asshole!_"

Ironhide jerks me away, holding me out at arm's length to stare at me with intense blue eyes—hard and cold, flat like ice. He raises a cannon to my face and holds it there.

"Calm yourself."

I just scream.

He shakes me roughly, like a ragdoll.

"Calm-your-self," he grunts, bringing me to a sudden halt. I freeze.

I hear him start to speak again when there's a sudden loud clang, metal on metal again, and it takes me a moment to realize the sound came from the other Decepticon, having hit Ironhide on the shoulder. He gives a slight shake of his head, and I realize Cade must have gotten away, and quickly. I turn my head slowly to stare at the other with wide eyes, and for the life of me I can't figure out who he is; yellow armor, car doors on his back like fairy wings… Megs hadn't mentioned him. Maybe he wasn't important enough.

"What," I breathe, all weepy and pathetic and _perfect_, "are you going to do to me? Oh my God, what… don't hurt me, please!"

Ironhide swings me around and I start screaming again; he adjusts one finger deftly to cover my mouth, looking irritated. The yellow one watches me with his head tilted to one side. My eyes flicker back and forth between them rapidly, watching as Ironhide shrugs.

"We could just terminate her," he says casually, "objectively speaking." The yellow one makes an exasperated gesture and Ironhide looks slightly put-out. "Well we _could_. No one has to know." The yellow one folds his arms. Doesn't this guy talk?

At the mention of being terminated I flail again, making little muffled scared sounds. Ironhide sighs and I can imagine him rolling his eyes. "You," he says sternly, giving me a slight shake, "need to stop. You need to calm _down_." I just shake my head slowly against his finger. He turns to Yellow, seemingly frustrated.

"Well," he says, "_now_ what?"

Yellow makes a telephone motion with his hand, bringing it up to his ear. Ironhide groans. I can't stop staring at them, soaking them in, making little notes. These are the _enemy_. I'm right here, so close to them, in the hands of one of the most formidable of them all. Fury pumps through my veins, knowing that both of them are just like the two who were there that day, the day I lost everything that ever mattered to me.

"We have a situation," Ironhide says, seemingly to no one in particular. It takes me a moment to realize that he must be communicating with someone _else_, probably much like how Megs will communicate with me. But Ironhide isn't wearing any earrings that I can see. He continues to fill someone else in on the situation before snapping his attention to Yellow.

"They'll be here soon," he said in his deep, stern voice. He jostles me slightly and removes his finder. And, just to be annoying, as soon as it's gone I scream again. But this time my vocal chords have just about had it, and while the screech starts out nice and throaty, it cuts itself off, leaving me sounding like a dying animal. Ironhide just stares at me as I wriggle one had free to rub my throat, sniffling and pretending to choke on sobs.

"You," he says, turning away from me and focusing on Yellow, "get to stay here and babysit. Don't let her out of your sight."

And with that he holds me straight out and drops me. I gasp as I fall a few feet before Yellow catches me, holding me firmly but gently in one fist, allowing my feet to rest in his other palm. I'm breathing heavily, still playing it up as I watch Ironhide jog away into the woods. Only a moment later I hear the unmistakable sounds of him shifting into his vehicle form. I wonder what it is.

Then I stare back at Yellow, finding him watching me intently. All of a sudden he sits down, jostling me and making the ground tremble a bit. But he's very careful not to scare me much. He draws his knees in and rests his elbows on them, still holding me. He tilts his head from side to side as I allow tears to slide down my face. I almost forget that I'm supposed to feel scared; I'm that angry with them, with the situation. In my head I keep seeing Savannah's face; I keep hearing him screaming my name.

"_Parker! Parker!"_

I want to hurt the monster holding me. I want him to hurt like I've hurt, regardless of whether he was there or not. He's just like the rest of them. Since he has me resting on one knee now rather than his palm I stomp it and kick it, like a child throwing a fit, knowing the whole time that I haven't even hurt him.

He looks startled at least, tilting his head again and watching me, looking almost offended. With one hand he makes a _what was that for?_ gesture. He tightens his grip on me slightly, allowing my arms to hang over his thumb. With his free hand he makes a calming, _settle down_ gesture, using one massive finger to stroke my wild hair. I pound his thumb with my fists.

"Put me _down!_" I rasp, flailing and stomping madly again. He holds me suspended, raising his metal eyebrows and making an absurd move with his hand, as if to say "I _will_ smack you."

"Do it," I taunt him, "_do it,_ I dare you!"

He just shakes his head, looking exasperated, and tucks my arms into his fist. When I kick, he raises his other hand to cup me between both hands, trapping me like a child traps a firefly. I swear, he _is_ like a child, and he does look younger than the Autobots and Ironhide. I scream and pound at the insides of his hands, angrier than ever. He cracks them open and puts an eye to the crack, illuminating everything with a soft blue glow.

I punch him _hard_ in the eye.

He jerks back, enclosing me in darkness, making strange whirring and clicking sounds. He looks startled and alarmed and a little irritated when he opens his hands again, now holding me flat in one palm, using the other hand to wave his finger in my face as though reprimanding a badly behaving dog.

"Get that finger out of my face!" I snarl, choking on my words. I cough. He waves his finger in front of my face, and when I swat it, bruising my hands, he pokes me in the chest, knocking me flat on my back. He tilts his head back and makes a sound comparable to laughter.

"You're a dick."

He just continues that strange "laugh." After a few moments he begins to pet me again. Maybe he thinks he's calming me, but it's really just pissing me off. And, as he pets me, he slowly seems to relax, looking happy, like a child with a puppy.

No. I will _not_ be his pet!

I glare at him, having forgotten the scared little girl act, and he seems satisfied. I make a couple of escape attempts, but he always manages to grab me, shaking his finger at me each time. I'm growing frustrated, and my voice is growing weaker.

Eventually I hear a rumbling coming closer and closer. Yellow perks up and turns to look over his shoulder, his hand tightening around me before he stands up, holding me against his chest. My heart is thudding loudly against my ribs, almost painfully. They're back. I know they're back. I want to scream, to rant, to hurt them, but I'm trapped in Yellow's fist.

So, remembering the role to be played, I wriggle and squirm, whimpering. "What's going on?" I whisper to Yellow. "Let me go! Please let me go, I didn't do anything wrong!"

He just claps a hand down on top of my head, rubbing it between two fingers. I realize that, if he slips, he could snap my neck without a second thought. I go still, returning to the sobbing mess of a girl I had made myself become. The ground rumbles and the trees whisper to each other, murmuring of the beasts to come. I struggle.

"Please," I beg. "Please just let me go!"

He just keeps rubbing my head. Then, all at once, out of the trees steps the massive one, the cannon on legs: Ironhide, his blue eyes staring into me. Just behind him comes a tall, slim silver Decepticon, almost lanky. He watches me carefully, his blue eyes flicking to Yellow to me and back again, before finally staying on me. I press away from him as he walks—no, his feet are tires, I realize, so it's like he's rollerblading—as he rollerblades around Yellow and I in a circle before standing beside us.

Finally, the last one—I think he's the last one, anyway—steps out, and he's massive, easily as large as Megs. He brushes a tree aside and comes to stand before us, and there's something about him, something hanging in the air. There's just this respect that emanates from his Decepticons, hovering in the air as they all bow their heads just slightly, look intently at him… and the way he holds himself, shoulders back, head high. He's so _regal_, tall and beautiful and strong and _wise_, everything about him screams _leader_.

I hate him.

My eyes rove up and down his body, and even though I see it, I don't _want_ to see it. I don't want this to be real. God, please don't let it be real. I've been preparing for this moment for two years, but the preparation has done nothing for me. The agony is fresh and raw and crippling, and this time the tears that come are tears of grief, tears of pain as I cry for my lost family. I can only hope that they just think I'm afraid.

Because it's written all over him; _he_ is the one. It's all there, painted on his body: the blue base, the horrible red flames, and that sense of leadership that makes him _Optimus Prime_. I search his eyes, gritting my teeth through the rage and the pain, my muscles all tense. I want to kill him, I want him to die in so many different ways: tortured, as my brother was, screaming for those he loves, as my mother did, or drowning in his own blood like I nearly did. I want him to feel it all—the pain, the terror, the desperation, the loss that we all felt. I want him to watch as I tear apart his friends with my bare hands, and I destroy everything he's ever worked for. And then I will destroy him, piece by piece.

Wrath. That's the name for what I'm feeling right now, and the world curls around my mind like a dark, bitter snake poisoning everything it touches. And I revel in it. It nearly makes me shudder, imagining what I will do to him, and it's a good kind of shudder.

I search his face for something—anything, just a glimmer of recognition, a tilt of his eyebrows, a parting of his metal lips, something to tell me that he hasn't forgotten that day, that my family and I weren't just insignificant, disposable, meaningless. I want him to have felt my loss. But as I watch him take me in, I see nothing. It's as though the day never happened. There is nothing on his face that would lead me to believe that he has any idea who I am.

I am ecstatic and I am destroyed. They died, they slipped away, and no one even remembers. Their murderer was unaffected.

Just like Megs said.

My hands are balled into fists at my sides, my body trembling, and I can't take my eyes off of him. Yellow strokes me and pats me, holding me almost protectively, but I couldn't care less. For a moment, no one speaks. Then:

"So, I wasn't really sure what to do with her." Even as Ironhide speaks, I can't take my eyes off of Prime. Tears are sliding hotly from my eyes, leaving a scorching trail, sizzling in a cut on my cheek. "Obviously she knows about us. Barricade was tormenting her."

The silver one hisses, and somewhere in the back of my mind I make a connection. The silver one with tires for feet. Sideswipe, also a formidable enemy, quick, agile, cunning, and a talented warrior. But none of it matters, not with _him_ standing in front of me, looking at me with something like sympathy on his face. I can't stand it.

"Stay away from me," I manage in a husky voice. It reminds me of the dull scratch of a pen on paper. I need to stop using it. "Don't touch me."

"Bumblebee," Prime says, and his voice makes my stomach churn. It's everything I would have imagined, coming from someone like _him_—smooth, deep, sincere and almost soulful, like he's felt all the pain of the world and it hurts him, but he struggles on. It makes me sick. "Put her down."

Yellow—or I guess Bumblebee—sets me gently on the ground, motioning with his hands that I shouldn't run. I don't. I can't run, not now, not even if I wanted to. Not with the source of all my pain standing only feet in front of me.

Prime drops down to one knee, ducking his head toward me. I take a couple of wary steps back, narrowing my eyes and wiping the tears off my face—silent tears now, the worst kind, snaking down my face and damaged throat.

"You don't have to be afraid," he says gently, and I want to scream at him. Is that what he told my brother, my mother, in that same soothing voice while Ratchet tortured them? Of course I should be afraid, and the fact that I'm not is unnerving. I shake my head, bring my filthy hand up to my mouth, and take a couple more steps away. My back hits something hard and I whirl around, realizing I collided with Bumblebee's leg. He stoops down too, patting the top of my head like he has some kind of claim on me, looking up at Prime while he does so. I dart out from under his hand.

The other Decepticons move in so that they're standing in something of a circle around me. I'm trapped in a cage made up of gigantic feet and metal legs, with Bumblebee and Prime stooping to watch me. After a moment Sideswipe stoops as well, his eyes cunning, bright. Something about him reminds me of a hawk, all deadly grace.

"Back up," Prime orders, and they all scoot back a little. "You're scaring her."

I cover my scarred throat with one hand, the other wrapped around my body, trying my best to look pathetic rather than angry. Finally I crumble dramatically to the ground and start to cry, shaking my head, looking like I'm trying oh so hard to be brave but can't manage. It's all rather fun.

"This can't be real," I whisper. "This can't be happening." I glance up at them. "How...?"

"In time," Prime says gently. "For now, we must make sure you aren't badly wounded or going into shock. Ratchet should be here soon."

Ratchet.

The name echoes in my head.

_Ratchet_. He'd gotten so close to taking me, but Meg's Autobots had saved me. Ratchet, the torture specialist.

I'm careful to look confused. "Ratchet?" I mumble, and my voice is almost inaudible. Bumblebee whirs excitedly.

"Our medic," he says with a soft smile, but I don't know if the smile is for me or Bumblebee.

I just shake my head, watching them all watching me curiously. Sideswipe leans in for a closer, careful look, and Ironhide keeps a wary eye on me.

"Are—" I break off, swallowing, lowering my voice to a whisper so that it's less painful. "Are you going to kill me?"

"Of course not," Prime says, which makes me angry. Why not kill me? What makes me so special, when my family was disposable?

"But," I murmur, looking at Ironhide, "he said he wanted to terminate me and—"

Sideswipe reaches over me to club Ironhide on top of his head. Ironhide swears, and Prime looks at Ironhide sternly before looking back at me. "I can assure you," he says, "no one here will terminate you."

I immediately see the lie, the loophole in his words. Nobody _here_ will terminate me. But Ratchet isn't here yet. This is how they lie, Megs had said, by telling what appear to be truths at a glance. But there's always something else, some back door, some trick of words that keeps them from ever _technically_ lying so that they don't have to deal with the guilt.

But I pretend that I don't know any of this, and I just nod. I run a hand through my tangled hair.

"Who—what _are_ you?" I breathe, as if I don't already know the answer. But I figure a girl in my position should ask.

Prime looks at all of them in turn, and they all look uncomfortable. Sideswipe shakes his head very slightly and Prime closes his eyes.

"In time," he says. "First, why don't you tell us who _you_ are?"

I want to spit the words _In time_ at him, but I don't. I bite my bottom lip and tell him the name I've come up with: "I'm Carmen Santana."

* * *

><p><strong>NOTE: Okay, that's that. I hope you enjoyed it! Reviews=motivation=faster updates. Also, I kind of want your opinions on something, so if you could let me know what you think in the reviews, it'd be great!<strong>

**So I was planning on having some romance in this, but I'm not sure who I want it to be with? Who do you guys think? My ideas: **

_**Parker/Optimus Prime**_**: This was the idea, originally. I know their chemistry right now is nonexistent, but I kind of like the idea. Plus, how many stories really involve Optimus Prime as a love interest? I think her rage and hate for him would be really amazing to see turn around into affection.**

_**Parker/Bumblebee**_**: Bee is a super common love interest, but no offense to anyone, I haven't seen many written well or in-character. And so far Bee's had the most interaction with her, but it's common, like I said.**

_**Parker/Ironhide:**_** Parker's a bitchy little thing, so seeing her with someone like Ironhide could be funny. Then again, it could be funny with them as friends.**

_**Parker/Epps:**_** Parker's an adult, and poor Epps never gets any lovin'!**

_**Parker/Sam:**_** I'm so shocked that I haven't seen any Sam/OC stories on here! Parker could kick his ass ;)**

**Parker/Other? Help me out!**

**Or: No romance?**

**OH and one final thing! I just wanted to point out that in a lot of fics, Bee completely blows off Sam which is so out of character for him! Sam is Bee's fave human EVER. I'm not going to change that in my fic. The interaction with Parker and Bee here is just something I could see Bee doing—I see him as young and curious.**

**Thank you!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Note: So sorry for the long wait, but updates will be more consistent from now on. And yes, just so y'all know, Parker and Savannah **_**are**_** mixed-race. If you want to have an idea of what Parker looks like, look up Katerina Graham and Jessica Parker Kennedy. The name thing is a coincidence, but I figure it's a sign. Anyways, how often do you read about mixed-race OCs?**

**Also, I decided this starts somewhere between the 2****nd**** and 3****rd**** movie. So, eventually, it will follow movie 3. Sound good? Epps was originally in this chapter, but I took him out because I remembered he retired, and gave Sideswipe his lines. But because I removed him, I took out a lot of info about Parker's father. I'll find a place for it later, though.**

**This is also a filler chapter, sort of. I'm still working out some kinks, but once I get the timeline down and get Parker settled in with the bots, it'll be smooth sailing! I can't wait to get further into the story for you guys! I just need to sit down and map it out first. Anyway, enjoy, and forgive any typos.**

**(I own only Parker/Carmen and the story idea)**

Chapter 3

"Carmen," Prime says, as though testing out the name. He tries to hold my eyes, but I look away quickly, shuffling my feet as I stand again. I tug on a curl self-consciously, forcing another tear from the corner of my eye. "I am very sorry that we had to meet this way."

Thinking back to when we _really _met, albeit unofficially and years ago, I want to tell him that it could have been much worse—that meeting me this way is pretty great by comparison. I want to tell him that I'm sorry we ever met at all, but not as sorry as he's going to be. But I don't say any of these things. Instead I just nod.

I can feel them all watching me, and emotions are raging within me. Part of me is suddenly afraid to do this, afraid of blowing my cover, though by this point I seriously doubt anyone will recognize me. But a greater part of me, the part of my soul that is still tethered to my dead twin brother, insists that I stay and follow through and destroy them.

More rumbling in the trees alerts me that another one is coming, and I'm sure it is Ratchet. My heart flutters in my chest and I gasp slightly, part acting, part real gasp. The trees seem to whisper again, an almost chilling sound. My eyes zero in on the woods, waiting, watching. Someone murmurs for me to relax, that I'm safe, but I ignore them. I'm trembling, and whether it's from rage or fear, I can't be sure.

The lime greeny-yellow emergency Hummer rolls out of the woods, over fallen trunks, and comes to a halt at Prime's side. The doors open and a few men spill out, and I almost have one of those cheesy-movie-flashbacks. I can almost hear the wailing again, feel the glass in my throat. I pray none of them will recognize me, but at the same time some sick part of my mind hopes they will. God, I want so badly for them to hurt.

The men are dressed in their military uniforms, and one of them is clearly in charge. He's about average height, pretty good-looking, light skin. He glances from Prime to me, looking confused as he takes in my filth and the smears of blood. Something about him is vaguely familiar, and I wonder if he was there that day.

There are a few other men behind him, all of them looking wary, but they're all faceless to me. I'm focusing on the one in the front and run to him like he's some sort of lifeline.

"Help me," I breathe as he catches me around the waist.

"Whoa," he says, placing his hands on my shoulders, "Want to tell us what happened?"

"I—I—I don't know," I say, my eyes flickering from man to robot and back again. Then I stare at the Hummer behind him and shudder. I lower my voice. "Is that one of… of _them_?" I whisper.

"Yes," the soldier says. "But it's okay; he's on our side. He's going to help you."

_Right, because that's so comforting._

"What are you going to do with me?"

"We need you to tell us what exactly happened," the man says, his voice hard with that military edge, but his eyes gentle. He puts one hand on my other shoulder. "Do you know who it was who attacked you? Do you know why? Just start at the beginning."

I clutch my stomach and shake my head. "I think I'm going to be sick."

Both of his hands vanish instantaneously as I curl in on myself slightly, hunched over. He pats my back slightly. "This is a dream," I breathe. "I've lost it. This can't be happening."

"It's okay," he says. "It's going to be okay, but we need to know—"

"Will," Prime says, "she's been through a lot. Perhaps Ratchet should take a look at her."

"_No!_"

The word is stronger, louder than any I've spoken all day; it's almost impossible to hear that throaty rasp. The man looks startled and I try to cover my slip. "No," I repeat, allowing the rasp to take over. "I don't want them anywhere _near_ me."

"Listen, uh…"

"Carmen."

"Carmen," the man (Will?) repeats. "Nobody is going to hurt you, alright? We understand that this is a huge shock; I know it was for me, the first time I met—them." I glance up at him, chewing my lower lip, still trembling. I swallow thickly. In all honesty, I'm getting sick of this act. Megs better give me the world's best reward for this. "But," he continues, "Ratchet is like a doctor—" bull_shit_ "—and he's going to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine," I say. "I'm just freaking out a little bit."

"Can't blame you," Sideswipe says, in that hard, warrior-voice. I glance fearfully up at him. "You're gonna be okay, kid."

"What are you going to do with me?" I ask again, my eyes intent on soldier's. He glances at Prime and the other Decepticons, then scratches the back of his head.

"We'll figure something out," he says gently, but there's urgency in his eyes. "But we _need_ to know what happened."

"I think," says a voice from behind him, and I realize with a jolt of horror that the voice is coming from the Hummer. "That I should check her out first. She could be going into shock."

He nods and steps back, and the familiar sound of a transformation fills the air. I watch in pretend-horror as the Hummer becomes a robot with blue eyes—the same flat eyes, cold like ice, which the others have. The robot immediately steps toward me and gets down on one knee.

"My name is Ratchet," he says, and his voice is clipped, cold to my ears. "How are you feeling?"

"Shitty."

"Physically."

I roll my eyes. "Sore, bumped, bruised, beat to hell, stomped on, crushed, squished, I'm pretty sure I have whiplash, maybe a crushed lung and/or a concussion, and, oh yeah, I'm questioning my mental stability." I can practically feel the sarcasm oozing from my lips, and I know it isn't exactly the reaction _Carmen_ should have, but it's perfect for Parker.

"Anything else?" I'm pretty sure I detect sarcasm in his tone as well. "Hold still."

As his eyes scan me (and something like a wide laser fans over my body) I want to run, but I keep still. He seems to process whatever information he's gotten before nodding and standing to his full height. I stumble back, and suddenly I'm afraid that he recognizes me—if any of them would, it would be him, right?

"She'll be fine," he says, and I'm confused. He isn't a _doctor_, he's a torture-specialist. Maybe he's having fun, I think. Maybe he'll save the torture for later, so it's more fun; gain my trust, then peel me apart with those lasers. Or maybe he has the soldiers blinded to what he really is—a good cover, like mine. "She's got a few scrapes and contusions, but nothing serious; however, the cut on her calf may need stitches, but the bleeding has stopped. No substantial blood loss, and she doesn't seem to be going into shock. She has some damage to her vocal chords—" I jump as he says this, partially because I'm afraid I'm caught, but mostly because Bumblebee makes excited whirring noises behind me. "—but the wounds are old. However, I would suggest getting some water and sugar into her immediately, and letting her rest. Don't ask her to speak excessively; her vocal chords have had enough trauma for the day. "

I wait tensely for the hammer to drop, for him to remember, but there's nothing. That's it. I swallow again thickly, scratching at my arm. The soldier nods.

"So," he says after a moment, "looks like we're taking her back to the base."

"_Perfect._" The voice in my ear startles me, but I'm able to keep up a good poker face. Megs has been listening the whole time, and I hear a chuckle hiss lowly in my ear. I take comfort in the sound, wishing he was here with me. "_You are doing excellently, child._"

"You sure that's a good idea?" Ironhide's accented voice is wary. "She could be anyone."

"I would assume," Prime says, speaking for the first time in minutes, "that there is a _reason_ Barricade attacked her. She may need the protection."

Bumblebee starts whirring again, and then I hear a voice—broken, choppy, and confusing, and it takes me a moment to realize that his radio is speaking for him. "_I would be very—very happy to— protect this child."_

"Bumblebee," Prime sighs as I watch them carefully. They want to put a _guard _on me? No, no, no, that definitely doesn't fit into the plan. "I know you miss Sam, but _he_ is your charge."

As I watch, Bumblebee hangs his head and his shoulders droop slightly, making a sad sound.

"It's okay," Sideswipe says, giving him a gentle nudge with his fist, "they'll take care of the girl; you look out for Sam."

At the mention of Sam—I know who Sam is, since Megs filled me in—Bumblebee perks up.

"It is growing late," Prime says, rising to his feet. "We should move. We need to take her to the base, somewhere safe, so we can discuss what happened and decide what to do from there."

The other robots rise, nodding. Ironhide rolls his shoulders and Sideswipe seems to crack his neck, twisting his head from side to side. Bumblebee, on the other hand, is making little urgent movements, drawing attention to himself; he reminds me of that irritating boy in my second grade class. Prime shakes his head before he can speak, seeming to know what is on his mind.

"Ratchet will drive her."

"What?" I have to speak now. "Whoa, oh, hell no. No. Don't I get a say in this?" I figure it makes sense for Carmen to be apprehensive. "I'm not getting anywhere _near_ one of you, much less _inside_ you."

Ironhide groans, muttering about how he should have eliminated me when he had the chance. Sideswipe chuckles this time.

"Carmen," the soldier says slowly, and I wonder why he hasn't introduced himself properly yet. "I need you to trust me here, okay? These guys won't hurt you, and they're the best drivers out there. You won't be in any danger."

I want to scream _bullshit!_ in his face, but I don't. I want to ask him if he knows what Prime did, if he knows what Ratchet did, but I don't. I can't. But I need to _know_—

"None of you have ever been in an accident?" I ask timidly, sounding slightly impressed. I shiver; it's getting cold, and I'm also waiting tensely for an answer. As I watch the soldier's eyes, they flicker just slightly, the tiniest bit, to Prime, who stays silent. In my ear, Megs hisses at me to _be careful_.

"No," he finally says, and Prime doesn't argue. I glance up at him, notice that he is rubbing his metal forehead. "Perfect driving records, all of them."

_Why are they lying?_

But I decide that Carmen should accept the answer, and I nod. "I don't know," I say slowly, shifting from foot to foot. The soldier watches me patiently. He seems to have placed his trust entirely in these robots, and I want to tell him just how blinded he is. I may hate the Decepticons, but no human deserves to go through what I went through. I want to warn him, to tell him that whatever he's been told is a carefully constructed lie.

"We can go whenever you're ready," Prime says. "We understand what you've been through."

_I seriously doubt it_, I want to snarl, and I hate him for saying it. I would have much preferred if they had forced me into a vehicle so that I could hate them for that, too. But Prime seems intent on waiting for me. I glare at him, at that face, at the gentle mask he is wearing to hide the monster underneath. I wonder how he does it so well, puts on such a cool mask when I know what he really is; a cruel thing, ruthless, uncaring. Not for the first time, I want to tear him apart with my fingers.

I'm surprised to find that some of my hesitation is _genuine_, and when I realize this I nod. "I'm ready."

"Okay," the soldier says. He gently wraps an arm around my shoulders and guides me toward Ratchet, who transforms into the Hummer again. I can feel myself trembling, and actually stop cold when the he opens the door for me.

"It's okay, kid," Sideswipe says, nudging me slightly with a finger. I whirl around to face him defensively "It's okay."

Steeling myself, I climb in and sit carefully on one of the black leather seats. The soldier slides in on my one side, and another walks around and sits on my other side, so that I'm trapped between them. Another soldier is in the passenger seat, and then some more are piled in the back; a few are waiting outside, presumably to hitch rides in the other robots.

I start as Ratchet's engine flares to life, and terror pumps through my veins. I search frantically for an escape as the soldier squeezes my arm gently.

"My name's Will, by the way," he says, "Major William Lennox." I shake his hand, glad to finally have a name for him; it makes him seem more human, familiar in a hostile world. He's been so kind to me, and I tell myself that if I can, I'll help him escape from these monsters, help him see what they are before he gets hurt. But these thoughts don't distract me from the fear pumping within. The black interior seems to seal me in darkness, closing in around me. I sniff the air quietly, but it just smells sterile, too clean, artificial. I want to gag, and my heart seems lodged in my throat.

I stroke one of the leather seats with my nails, half-scratching, wondering if the black ceiling was the last thing Savannah saw. I wonder what he felt, I wonder about the fear. I wonder what his last words were, wonder if he died screaming for me as the Autobots saved me; he had probably thought the worst. I wonder about my mother. Again, I touch the seat, knowing that at some point Savannah was here, where I am. I know he must have touched this seat, seen this ceiling, breathed in this sickening, artificial-smelling air. I can't smell his blood, can't find any sign that he was ever here.

It's strange, but being here, inside the monster that killed him, makes me feel closer to him than I have in years, since he died. For a moment I close my eyes and take it all in around me, trying to center myself. _This is for you_, I tell him, wherever he is. _I'm doing this for you and Mom._ _I'm so sorry_.

I realize I'm digging my nails into the leather and smirk slightly to myself; I hope Ratchet can feel it. I decide that, one day, I'll destroy him from the inside out. It only seems fitting, considering this is the heart of all my troubles, the place where Savannah died. I'll make this right, no matter how long it takes, no matter what I have to do. _I promise you, Savannah. I'll make it right._

I glance out the window; it's slowly growing darker. The other Decepticons are transforming; Ironhide becomes a black Topkick; Sideswipe a silver Stingray; Bumblebee a yellow-and-black Camaro; Prime that same hideous blue-and-red Peterbilt. Just the sight of it makes me cold and angry.

Ratchet starts to drive, finding a clear path through the woods; I wonder if they made it themselves on the way, uprooting trees as they came. As they make it onto pavement they all fall in line behind Prime, a sort of V-formation. I'm left to stare out the window, bitterly ignoring any conversation trying to be made with me. Besides, they'll probably think I'm too numb to care—and they'd be right, but not for the reasons I'm sure they're thinking.

I just can't stop thinking that I'm riding almost comfortably within the creature that destroyed my brother. In some absurd way, it feels like a betrayal. I squeeze my eyes shut and rest my palms against my temples. I want out; I need to escape. I can't be in here much longer, even though I'm sure he won't hurt me with the soldiers in here with me. Somehow, they've formed an alliance, and I can't wait to blow it all to pieces.

**That's all for now, folks! Next chapter will be up soon, I've already started it. Reviews are fantastic things, they really do keep me going!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Note: Great news! I figured out the timeline! Well, mostly, anyway.. thanks again for the reviews, my beautiful people, they mean a lot. And just a wee secret—the more detailed the review, the better! But anything works, just as long as I know you're still with me :)**

**In this chapter, we get a bit on Parker's family, who her parents were, her life with the REAL Decepticons, stuff like that. I know it's early, but you get a glimpse into how happy her life was before the accident.**

**Another filler. In the next chapter, Parker starts to question the Autobots/Decepticon story she's been fed. Also, there's some fantastic interaction (I love it, anyway) between her, Mudflap, Skids, and Bumblebee. I decided she's going to forge a close friendship with the twins.**

**THIS CHAPTER IS 11 PAGES LONG OMG WHAT. SORRY.**

**(I own only Parker/Carmen and the story idea)**

Chapter 4

I don't wake up like normal people—or at least not how normal people are portrayed in the movies. There's none of that soft, dewy-eyed blinking, the gentle yawn, the gentle stirring beneath the covers. I don't know what's wrong with me. But once I'm conscious enough to open my eyes I do and I sit up; every morning. I glance around my room, slightly startled by where I am, and then I remember: I'm at the base, wherever that is. Lennox let me sleep here for the night, said we'd sort it all out in the morning.

I glance at the clock; it's 5:30 am. I wonder what Lennox's definition of "morning" is before running a hand through my rumpled, slept-on curly hair. Lennox graciously left a mirror in the room, so I get up and flick on a light before grabbing it and examining myself; there's a scrape on my left cheekbone and some bruising under that eye, and my hair looks like an animal crawled in it and died. But at least I'm clean. They let me shower last night, and I'd scrubbed all the grime and blood down the drain.

I sigh and pull my chin-length, wild brown curls into a short ponytail which sticks out maybe an inch, the strands pointing every which way. It tames most of the mess, but the shorter layers on top are still loose, spiraling around my face. I tug a corkscrew, eyeing it evilly before letting it go; it springs back into place.

I place the mirror down and stretch up on my tiptoes. The stitches in my calf tug and pull uncomfortably as I flex the hard muscle, curling and extending my toes and ankle one foot at a time. The skin around the coarse black sutures is puckered and slightly enflamed, and agonizingly itchy; I scratch it with my other big toe and almost shudder with the pleasure. I can handle most pain, but _itching_ is the one thing I absolutely cannot tolerate.

In the privacy of this room, I'm glad to have a chance to be _me_ again: Parker, not Carmen. I _hate_ Carmen. I stretch out my legs, tug my ankles up until they pop, flex my arms, roll my neck. The earrings crackle in my ear as I pop each knuckle in my fingers individually before popping my toes on the ground. I'm pissed at Cade for making me so damn sore.

"Mornin', Megs," I murmur, both as a greeting and as a vocal exercise. My voice is thick, and I sound like I've got a bad cold. I clear my throat, but it's more painful than anything else.

"_My bird,"_ he says in response.

"Anything I need to know?" _Translation: Did you kick Barricade's ass?_

"_No. Just stick with the plan."_

"You got it, boss." There's a slight crackle, but he doesn't say anything else. I tuck my curls behind my ears and push the shaggy bangs out of my eyes, but they spring right back. I sigh.

I walk a few laps around the bedroom, replaying my story in my head; the story of Carmen, the poor, clueless little victim. They still haven't given Carmen any answers, even though I know them all. I suspect they'll do it today at some point, whenever they want my story. I crack my neck again and scratch at my stitches, which only makes the itching worse.

I'm bored. I'm so, so bored. By this hour, I've usually started training with Cade—he's normally the only one who's _always_ with me, since we're moving around so much and splitting up so often. I've wrestled with Alice before, which, in spite of her incredible strength is much easier than playing _Target_ with Cade—a game in which he shoots at me and I run. Alice is more human-sized. Or she _was_. A while back she tried to get Sam, and she was killed. Sometimes I miss her, as insane as she was.

My muscles, used to early training and exertion, itch for me to use them but I can't. I'm trapped in this small room, and everyone thinks I'm asleep. I normally keep myself _busybusybusy_, or else my mind does that terrible thing: it wanders, usually to dark, shadowy places. I can't stand it when it does that. I sit on the bed with a sigh, rubbing my eyes, but there's nothing to do but _think_.

I try to think about the happier days, before my dad was killed in Afghanistan a few years ago. After that, my mom kind of fell apart. I think it was hard for us to look at us after that, because we looked so much like him. Dad had been a very tall, handsome, amazing black man, my mother a tall, slender white woman with billowing dark hair and intense blue eyes. She was beautiful, and I remember Savannah had had a special bond with her, especially after Dad died. He took it upon himself to make her happy, to make her smile. He was always the compassionate one.

I'd been closer to Dad. He'd been so _wonderful_; war-hardened, but wonderful. I used to live for his smile. I was constantly making sarcastic, wise-ass, stupid comments just to see him smile when he was home, and when he was gone I missed him so much. I like to think I have his smile, but I don't. His death broke the family; Savannah and I got even closer, and we were more than ever the "aloof Rook twins."

Part of me is happy that I haven't been truly happy since Savannah was murdered. It just doesn't feel right; I'm only half of a whole, and it feels wrong. There's just a constant hole inside me, a void that no one can ever hope to fill. I've learned to live with it, but it keeps most of my smiles from being genuine. The only ones that are real are the smirks and the malicious ones.

I scratch absently at my stitches. I'm—_content_—with my life, and as close to happy as I've been in years because I finally have a purpose. But sometimes I just miss home. I miss my family. I miss my old life. I miss the ignorance. I used to be an artist—a cartoonist, anyway—but now I shoot guns, and God I'm a fantastic shot. But sometimes I'm not sure which I like better. I haven't drawn in a while, and I wonder if I still can. Savannah and I used to sing and dance, too. Not for real, but together, and have these really lame, ridiculous dance competitions in the kitchen, complete with socks, hairbrush microphones, and boxers.

Now I can barely speak, and my muscles are more accustomed to running and jumping and fighting than play-dancing. I remember Savannah used to be _such_ a dork. Somehow, the girls still loved him. Maybe it was because he looked so exotic, with those almond eyes, long lashes, dark skin and hair. The thick classes couldn't hide his beauty, and the girls knew it.

I sigh, resting my chin on my elbow, my elbow on my thigh with my bare legs folded beneath me. I'm still scratching at those stitches, and I can see that the skin is more inflamed than ever. I force myself to think about things _other_ than my family, hating the obsession I have with them. I think instead about Megs and Cade and Starscream—Starscream who for some odd reason I find endearing _despite_ the fact that he's a slimy little bastard. Maybe it's because he's the one who plucked me up that day. He'd saved my life, brought me to Megs, who had decided, obviously, to keep me alive and tell me the whole story. He'd protected me ever since.

I don't see Starscream much. Mostly I'm stuck with Cade, and we have this sort of mutual dislike for each other, a basic tolerance. I have the most fun with Starscream, mainly because he's stupid—blinded because he wants to be leader, but is stuck behind Megs. He'd do anything to be leader.

I find myself smiling at the thought, one of those painful not-really-smile-smiles that I've grown so used to. But they're the closest things to smiles I have. I almost want to laugh just thinking about them, my new, freaky, metallic family. Sure, they have their quirks—Cade is violent, Starscream is blind and irritating, and Megs can be slightly short-tempered—but what family isn't a little quirky? I've grown to genuinely love them, and Megs takes such good care of me.

The memory comes to me, unbidden; one night, soon after the accident, I'd been up sobbing, missing my brother. Cade had stopped by to torment me—not cruelly I'd come to realize later—and Megs had stepped in. He'd offered a clawed hand to me and, after some coaxing, I'd crawled in. He'd allowed me to perch for the first time then on his shoulder and cry, and it had been my favorite spot in the world since. He'd comforted me, let me tell him about my family. I wish I was with him right now.

There's a knock at the door and my eyes flicker up from my stitches. I rise and open it and find a young soldier on the other side. He looks startled, his fist still raised to knock.

"Oh, good," he says, "you're awake."

"Couldn't really sleep," I say, slipping into the role of Carmen. I give a _what can you do?_ type of shrug. The soldier nods and then stiffens, thrusting a pair of worn jeans at me. It's then that I realize I'm wearing only a razorback tank and underwear. I slip the pants on quickly; they're too small, so I leave them unbuttoned and unzipped and I roll them.

"How can I help you?" I ask the soldier once I'm set. I chew my lower lip, feigning nervousness.

"Major Lennox wants to speak with you if you're up for it."

I sigh and roll my eyes. "Yeah, I _guess_," I say, exasperated. I run a hand through my rumpled hair and re-ponytail it. "Why so _early_?"

"Military time," he says, as though that explains everything.

"Right," I say. "What is it now; 0600?"

"That's it," the soldier says, nodding and smiling softly. He's maybe in his early thirties, with cropped blond hair and warm hazel eyes. Still, he has that war-hardened expression I'd grown used to seeing on my father. I just nod at him and motion out into the hall. "After you."

I follow him, trying to pay attention and make note of the small things. Even at this early hour, people are awake and bustling, which makes sense, considering it's, duh, the _military_. He guides me down some stairs and, after ages, finally into a hangar, where we go _up_ some metal stairs. I spot Lennox at the top on the raised platform, some 30 feet high.

"Here she is, sir."

"Thank you." He nods at the man, dismissing him. I lean carefully against the railing, looking down quickly. I shuffle my feet awkwardly, hunching my shoulders. Below me I spot a few vehicles; I can pick out Ironhide and Sideswipe and Bumblebee, all in their designated parking places. The thought makes me smirk. There are others, too; a bright green Chevy Beat, I think, and parked beside it is a red-orange car of the same make and model. I'm like a boy, in that way, and it was something Megs had always stressed to me: _Know your cars._

My eyes settle on Prime and Ratchet, the Peterbilt and the Hummer, and I glare, my eyes zeroing in on the Peterbilt. The rage that pumps through me, the sheer hate leaves me breathless. It's like aparasite, draining me, begging me for action. Lennox puts a hand on my suddenly tense shoulder and squeezes.

"Hey," he says gently. "You okay, kid?"

"As okay as I can be, I guess," I rasp. Sometimes I love the rasp; I think it's sort of sexy. But sometimes it's a curse. I hop up on the railing, my legs around the rail beneath to keep from falling. Lennox leans casually on the rails beside me. I stare off at the cars.

"It's so empty in here," I say. Lennox nods.

"Normally," he says, "the soldiers would be in here training with them. But I've had it cleared out today."

"Why?"

"We wanted to talk to you."

"_We?_" I echo incredulously.

"The 'Bots and I."

My stomach sinks but I just nod, rubbing my arms. He gestures at my bruised face. "How you holdin' up?"

"A little sore," I confess honestly. "My head still hurts and my chest feels like I've got an elephant sitting on it, but I've had worse."

"I can tell," he says. When I look confused, he touches his throat. My body chills slightly and my skin breaks out in gooseflesh.

"Oh, _that_."

"What happened?" his voice is gentle, and I know he's just trying to make conversation, but I can't help but feel a flare of anger at him for not knowing, even though it's not his fault.

"Mugger," I say. "He came up behind me and held a knife to my throat. Tried to fight him off, but…" I just tap my finger against the scar, shrugging. "Can't speak too well anymore, you know? But whatever; it happens."

There's a hint of rage in his eyes, and I see the muscles in his jaw clench tightly. "I'm sorry," he says.

"Not your fault. Chill." Did I really just tell a soldier to chill? I quickly mutter "sir" to him, hoping I haven't offended him. He chuckles.

There's an awkward silence, so I take the moment to really take him in. There's something about him, something that reminds me of my dad; a protective energy when I told him about the "mugger." I smirk at him.

"You got kids, sir?" He meets my eyes and smiles, fondness in his eyes, and I know he does. "Tell me about them."

"Her, actually," he corrects, looking wistful. "A baby girl. She's a couple of years old now. She's the most beautiful girl in the world; she's my angel."

"What's her name?" I can feel my throat tightening, and I wonder if my father ever spoke about me like this.

"Annabelle," he replies, and the open affection, the obvious _love_ he has for the little girl makes my heart ache. There's nothing in the world like the love a father has for his little girl, and I make a vow to myself: I _will_ warn William Lennox that he's on the wrong side.

"Do you have a picture?" Of course he does. Don't these guys always carry pictures? I know my dad did. Will looks flustered for a moment, seeming to consider, before his daddy-ness wins over and he caves. He digs through a pouch in his army greens, one near his heart, and pulls out a small picture, holding it out to me. I take it and examine it, feeling his eyes on me.

The girl in the picture really is beautiful, fatherly-bias aside. She has fair skin and long blond hair and big blue eyes. She looks like her mother—or I assume the woman with her is her mother. She is beautiful, too.

"They're gorgeous," I say, handing the picture back to him. He puts it back in the pouch and sighs. I know he's just been making light conversation with me before he gets to more serious topics, but I have to admit that it's nice. I haven't had a real conversation with a real person in a while.

"Thank you," he replies, then heaves another sigh, this one heavier than the last. Time to get down to business. He rubs his eyes, looking tired, like he's rather be doing anything else than this. "Okay," he says. "I'm really sorry we have to do this, Carmen. I wish we could just wipe your memory and send you home. Your family must be worried, but we'll cover for you."

I shrug. "I don't really have any family to be worried for me." He quirks an eyebrow at me. I jerk a thumb at myself. "Yep. You're pretty much speaking to the foster-care poster child."

"I'm sorry," he says tiredly.

"I'm not. Anyway. Let's get this thing done."

"Right." He pauses. "Optimus, whenever you're ready."

The room is filled with the sound of shifting and hydraulics and whirring and clicking. Prime steps forward, and I realize what the purpose is of this platform; we're eye level with him. One of his hands grasp the railing perpendicular to mine and he looks at me. My fingers curl impulsively around the metal, and I have to struggle to keep my snarl down. I disguise it with a cough.

"Carmen," he says to me, that voice so unbearably regal. I realize it's a greeting. In my ear, Megs chuckles.

"Hi," I say timidly, scooting away from me. His face is a mask of concern, and I glance between him and Lennox. I keep my head low, trying to make myself seem respectful and timid. Prime sighs, stirring the air around me.

"Carmen," Lennox says. "Can you start at the beginning, please? Just tell us what happened, and we'll ask you a few questions. Just start with when you met Barricade."

"Barricade…?" I trail ignorantly.

"The filth who was tormenting you," Prime says, and the anger in his voice is _finally_ what I've been waiting for; that fury, simmering just beneath the surface.

"Oh, right," I say. I put on a thoughtful face and furrow my brow. "Well," I begin, taking a breath, ready to spill the story I've come up with, careful to use my teenage storytelling voice—a voice I'd lost since living with Megs. "It was early morning—still dark, you know?—and I was out getting coffee before class. My class started at seven, so I had to be up really early, and I can_not_ function without coffee… Anyway, I was leaving the coffee shop, and this cop car pulls up next to me and rolls down his window and the guy tells me to get in.

"And I'm not an idiot, you know? It all seemed pretty sketchy to me. So I like kind of kept walking and ignored him. And he starts following me, which I think is weird, but I keep walking toward my car. He tells me to get in the car again, and calls me something weird—I think it was _fleshling_? Maybe. I don't know. So I kind of start to run, and then the car just _transformed_. I started screaming, but no one was around to come for me. And then I started to run, but he just grabbed me. And then, before I knew how or why, I'm _inside_ the cop car and he's driving away and I can't get out."

Prime shakes his dead and Lennox looks tense. I'm quiet for a moment, "remembering."

"Go on," Will urges.

"That's pretty much it. I mean, it was probably the scariest thing I've ever been through. I pounded on the windows and tried the locks, but—but nothing. And then we're in this field, and he's just kicking me and—and _throwing_ me. And the whole time I'm thinking I'm going to die—" I let my voice build into a nearly hysterical rush and force myself to stop for effect. I force a tear out of the corner of my eye and angle my head just right, tilting my head upward and blinking rapidly like I'm trying to be brave; the tears run down my throat.

"It's okay," Lennox says. "Hey, you're okay now."

"I know," I whisper. "But it was _horrible_." I let a hitch creep into my voice. "Damn it. I'm sorry. I didn't want to cry."

"You went through an incredibly traumatic ordeal," Prime says. "You're handling it quite well."

I shake my head bravely and wipe my face with the back of my hand. "I'm so scared," I confess, looking helplessly at Lennox; I can't bring myself to look at Prime like that. "I couldn't really sleep I was so scared. I kept thinking he might come back for me—or maybe one of _them_." I gesture at Prime and the others with a trembling hand.

"Carmen," Lennox says, and I push his hand away as he reaches out to comfort me. "These guys _won't_ hurt you."

"How am I supposed to know that?" I demand. "The last one like them that I met tried to _kill_ me!"

"We," Prime says, an edge in his voice, "are _not_ like them, I can assure you. We would never harm a human."

Liar.

My hands clench the rails again, and I'm trembling.

"I can't do this," I say, my voice desperate. "I don't _understand._ How is any of this _possible?_ What are they?"

"We'll explain that later," Lennox says apologetically. "But first I need to know if Barricade mentioned why he picked you."

"I don't know," I snap sarcastically, wiping my nose. "My good looks, my charming personality, my sense of humor? Take your pick; I've got no clue _why_."

Lennox pinches the bridge of his nose. "He didn't mention—"

"I have no idea," I mumble, my voice constricted with tears. "Seriously. It was just a bunch of chatter, and I don't speak deranged alien robot, sorry."

Lennox sighs. "It just doesn't make sense," he says. "Why _her_? It's not like them to single out a single human like that. It's too much of a risk."

"You are right," Prime says, his intense eyes settling on me again. I glare at him.

"I probably hotwired his brother or something," I drawl sarcastically, swallowing more tears. "Maybe I pissed him off."

"You are _certain_?" Prime asks. "There's nothing else you'd like to tell us? Strange dreams, or visions?"

"What? No. Of course not."

"_Keep them interested, my bird. Tell them you were being followed."_

Ugh.

"Hold on," I say, furrowing my brow again. "Wait! Oh my God, I'm so _stupid_. He was following me—the cop—robot—thing! I can't believe I didn't… I'm so stupid. He was outside my apartment a few days before, and I noticed him in my rearview a couple of times!"

"_You could have done better. But it will suffice."_

"This doesn't make any sense." Lennox looks distressed. "I don't understand why he would be following her."

"Lucky me," I drawl. Lennox looks at me and after a moment give a small smile. "Who _are_ you, Carmen Santana?"

"Damned if I know. I don't even know my real parents."

"Perfect," Lennox is frustrated again. "So, really, you could be _anyone_."

"I like to think I'm royalty."

Lennox cracks another small smile. He stretches up on his tiptoes for a moment, looking at Prime. He just shakes his head, seeming just as confused.

"Okay, so is show and tell over?" I ask. "Can someone please explain to me what's going on before I seriously start to freak out?" More tears roll down my face and I wipe them harshly away, trying to look strong and weak and annoyed and scared all at the same time.

Lennox and Prime share a glance before Prime nods, trailing his fingers off the railing and leaning closer to me. I scramble off the rails and dodge close to Lennox, positioning myself behind him just slightly, watching Prime warily. Prime just closes his eyes and shakes his head sadly.

"Carmen," he says, "I am very sorry about what you went though, and I am afraid that Barricade may have destroyed how you will perceive us. But I will explain everything to you; I hope you'll be able to put your faith in us, as others of your race have." He pauses, and I refuse to react to his words. "I will tell you our story, if you wish to hear it. From there, you'll be free to decide your own fate."

When I don't respond Lennox glances at me. "Sound good, kid?"

"Sure."

He nods at Prime with a sigh and I sit on the railing beside Lennox. Behind Prime, some of the other Decepticons transform, Sideswipe, Bumblebee, and Ironhide among them.

"Wait," Ironhide steps forward, blue eyes intent on me. "Wait. It's like you said, Will. She could be _anyone_. How do you know that this isn't exactly what they want?"

Shit. _Shitshitshit shitty shit._

I just stare blankly at him, trembling beneath his hard gaze. "Ironhide," Prime says warningly, "she's already frightened enough."

"I'm just saying," he says slowly, and Sideswipe is watching him carefully. "It doesn't seem even _slightly_ odd to you? This random human child shows up out of _nowhere_ with Barricade—who, I might mention, made an uncharacteristically _stupid_ move—coincidentally very close to us. We find her and bring her back here, to the heart of our operative base, give her access to everything. And she just so _happens_ to have no family, no one who will miss her or notice she is gone?"

I can tell the thought is registering with everyone. Prime's brow is knitted, and Lennox looks uncertain. Bumblebee is watching me with wide eyes, head tilted. They're all waiting for my next move. Megatron is silent. I just start back at them, my face a cross between anger and confusion and hurt.

"Are you _serious?_" I demand, my voice high and strangled with fresh tears. "Yeah, that's it, you caught me. See, what really happened is the _bad guys_ raised me from birth to be their perfect little minion, all intent on destroying _you_. And y'all played into it _perfectly_. Because I'm so _threatening_. I could clearly take you all out, no doubt about it. It's been a plan 20 years in the making, and you just caught me. All the bruises and cuts and stitches? Yeah, those are all planned to make it more realistic. And the tears? Oh, yeah, that came from _years_ of careful training. I can cry on command." The tears are there again, fresh and hot. "I can't believe this."

Bumblebee laughs—a recording of a crowd roaring with laughter. Ironhide folds his arms darkly. "Anything sounds stupid when you put it _that way._" He mutters as Sideswipe places a metal hand on his shoulder.

"Wait," Ratchet says from the back. "Ironhide is right. It is suspicious, and we cannot afford stupidity. Sideswipe, run a check on Carmen Santana."

_Oh God damn it, can't I catch a break?_

"_Don't worry,"_ Megs says. "_It's been taken care of."_

God, he is brilliant. I'd never even considered this happening, but he had, and he'd come up with fake information for me. I wish I could thank him.

Sideswipe's eyes are lost for a few moments as everyone watches him intently; I try to look irritated, like I know what they're going to find. Finally, he blinks.

"She's clean," he says. "Carmen Santana, age twenty, born August 18th. Parents unknown; she was found at a fire station in downtown Los Angeles and has since circulated through twelve foster homes. Graduated 192nd in her class, worked in a carwash at age sixteen before being fired for vandalism and moving on to a job at a sports bar, where she was fired for violence in the workplace. Currently unemployed. Criminal record includes minor accounts of vandalism. She checks out."

They accept the answer and I look annoyed. "Well, thanks for that. You sure I'm not a spy?" I snort. "Oh, and just FYI. The vandalism? I had a thing for destroying cars."

Bumblebee whirrs. _"Danger Will Robinson, danger Will Robinson!"_

This gets a chuckle out of Sideswipe, and Ironhide still looks wary of me. I rub my eyes.

"Can someone _please_, _please_ tell me what's going on?"

**That's it for this one! It's a long chapter, sorry, and I hope you liked it. Bear with me, please! The next chapter is much more fun! Like I said, she plays with Mudflap and Skids and Bumblebee. I hope you enjoyed the little look into who Parker is.**

**Am I moving this too slowly? The next chapter may take place a few days later, and some developments will have been made in that time.**

**I also just want to make sure you all know WHY there is less hate in this chapter. She spends most of her time talking to Lennox, who she sees as blinded and confused. She likes him as a person, and she wants to save his family from being torn apart as hers was. So when she talks to him, the tone is calmer and more affectionate, as opposed to whenever OP speaks and she gets tense and violent. Just sayin. :D Parker will slowly start changing, but I have plans for her. **

**Reviews? The more reviews, the faster I write. One review can really have a huge effect. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Note: So, some fun stuff between Parker and the Twins! I hope I portrayed them right, so feedback would be great on that. Another long chapter. And it's a little quirky at the end, but I figured it needed some humor. Parker's been super tense lately, and she's going to get very close with Mudflap and Skids. She even gets a nickname! **

**Oh, and there's a little Optimus incident. Not fun.**

**Enjoy! And excuse any typos.**

**(I own only Parker/Carmen and the story idea)**

Chapter 5

The last week passed by in sort of a blur. After Optimus Prime told me his story (which was… _wrong_, but I'll get to that later) Lennox had tried to decide what to do with me. His first idea was up put me up in a hotel near base with one of the Decepticons—_Autobots?_—no, definitely Decepticons—as a guardian in case Cade came back, but Megs wasn't having it. He'd urged me to fight for my place here.

It had taken quite a bit of begging and pleading. Lennox wasn't going to just let me stay on base for free. He wanted to know my talents, so I listed them: I was good with a gun, friendly, funny (they'd need comedy relief, right?), strong, and all of that. But he didn't seem convinced. Then Sideswipe had snorted, and, with a smirk, had mentioned that it'd been a while since he'd had a good bath. Lennox had looked confused, and then his eyes had lit up—my background check had revealed that I'd once worked at a car wash.

Sideswipe had smirked and Bumblebee had seemed excited, nodding his head. Lennox had said that they'd already had people to wash the cars. So with some more arguing and begging, Lennox had finally decided to let me stay. I think the fact that the robots were on my side was a huge factor—or, most of them were on my side, anyway. I was pretty sure Ironhide didn't like me much, and Ratchet seemed wary as well. But Sideswipe had kind of vouched for me, and I think it was Prime who'd been the one to really change his mind.

"Will," he had said, "we still don't know what they want with her. As long as she is away from us, she is in danger because of it. She has no one else, and as long as she makes herself useful I don't see a problem. But it is your decision."

So I'd begged a little more, and Sideswipe had leaned in close. "At least for a short while," Sideswipe says. "Nothing permanent."

"Fine," Will had finally agreed, giving me a hard look, tinged slightly with sympathy and uncertainty. "But only for a little while, understand? And no free rides; you're going to work."

And then my conditions had been set; no bothering the Autobots (that's what _they_ called themselves), no wandering during main operating hours, no following Lennox or his men around, no asking questions, no sticking my nose where it didn't belong. He basically wanted me to hang out in my room all day. At night I would be let out to wash the cars, which I thought wasn't my form of work so much as it was meant to keep my occupied. Oh, and no vandalizing the cars. They'd know what I did. And I would keep the hangar as clean as possible.

Basically, I was a grunt; if someone asked me to do something, I would do it.

Which was severely irritating, but at least I got to stay on base with them, which kept Megs satisfied. It was exhausting for the first couple of days, till I adjusted my sleep schedule; I worked through the night and slept through most of the day which, I suspected, was what Lennox wanted because it kept me out of the way. During this period I'd managed to maintain the fearful act, touching the cars gingerly as I washed them outside. And, during this period, I'd learned a lot about their personalities, which confused me more than anything else. I often went to sleep with headaches; even when it was just me and the robots, not one of them had threatened me.

While Optimus Prime has told his story, I'd just been angry. Right then and there I'd wanted to call him out as a liar, tell William Lennox the truth, but I hadn't. He'd completely twisted it, stating that my family were the Decepticons, the bad guys, in essence, and that he and his warriors were basically the noble rebels, the Autobots protecting Earth; a story that conflicted with the one Megs had told me. It had made me so angry, listening to them, but Megs had been right there with me the whole time, reminding me that it was all a lie.

It was all so horribly twisted and distorted.

But I'd managed to pretend to accept this story, and though _Parker_ didn't trust a single one of them, _Carmen_ had to. So I pretended to slowly grow comfortable around them; in reality, I was comfortable around them as _robots_. However, knowing that Prime had caused that accident… it made it very difficult, sometimes.

So to say I'm going out of my mind with a horrible mix of boredom and rage is a major understatement. And for me, this combination is never a good one.

It's probably around 3am, which, for me and my new time schedule, is like 3 in the afternoon. I'm sitting on a crate outside the hangar. The night air licks at my skin and plays in my hair, stirring the curls around my face. I'm still not sure where we are, but it's warm enough at night. I'm wearing a worn black tank and a pair of jeans that finally fit my wide hips and some old, beat-up, hand-me-down boots. It's not cool enough for long sleeves; I'm comfortable.

I wish I could say it's peaceful, but nothing is peaceful anymore, not really. At my feet is a large bucket full of warm, sudsy water; there's a sponge in one of my hands and towels piled up on the crate, as well as various other cleaning supplies. Thank God I actually _do_ know how to wash a car properly. It's not exactly a talent, and it doesn't make me special, but it helped keep me here; just another something I'd learned from my new family.

How many times had Cade gotten himself filthy and demanded a wash? More than I could count.

I've just finished cleaning up the hangar a bit, with the help of a few other people. They did most of the work; I've never been one for hard labor, so the fact that hard labor is what's keeping me here isn't really something I'm too excited about. But if it gets the job done, then…

With a heavy sigh, I stare out at the bots (I've decided to call them bots so I don't slip up and call them Decepticons; it feels wrong to call them Autobots) lined up and waiting for a wash. Today is Sideswipe, Mudflap, Skids, Bumblebee and Prime, since I'd neglected them yesterday. In all honesty, I've neglected Prime _every_ day, and I'm hoping to do it again today; hopefully luck is on my side.

I hop off the box, sling a towel over my shoulder, grab my bucket and sponge and head off toward Sideswipe, planning to save Prime for last in hopes that I won't get to him tonight. Sideswipe's normal sleek silver exterior is barely recognizable under the mounds of grime. Setting my supplies beside his front tire, I drag the hose over, struggling slightly with the weight. When I get it close enough and turn it on, I tap Sideswipe timidly with my knuckles.

"Up," I say softly. I'm not sure why I speak so softly; maybe it's the night all around and the complete lack of _life_ anywhere, aside from the bots. It's kind of eerie, and I feel like I'm the last person on the face of the earth. I'm still not comfortable around them, always watching over my shoulder, afraid one of them will try and kill me, but I feel pretty safe with the soldiers not too far away, even if Lennox is sleeping.

Sideswipe raises the body of the car up so that I can wriggle underneath. I wet it all down, careful not to let the nasty grime fall on my face, and clean it up.

"Enjoying the view?" Sideswipe quirks, and I roll my eyes. When I'm done with the underbelly I squirm out and work on the exterior. It takes some time—not because I care about the car, but because I'm OCD when it comes to these things, thanks to Cade—but he's finally done. When I step back he flashes his headlights at me.

"Much better," he says from the car. "Not too bad, for a little girl."

I give him another glare as he laughs and heads back into the hangar, presumably to get some sleep, or whatever the alien robot equivalent of that is. I sigh and run a wet hand through my hair, one hand on my hip as I look at the four remaining cars. "Bumblebee," I say, "you're up."

"Aw, come _on!_" Suddenly the green Chevy Beat transforms, and I've seen enough of my family to know the difference between a friendly transformation and an irritated one. I'm pretty sure this is Skids, but I could be wrong. Aside from the coloring and a few minor differences, this bot and the reddish one are identical. I've learned that they're twin brothers, and the troublemakers of the group.

Their dynamic _fascinates_ me. The way they interact with each other is incredible, and, while painful to watch, they remind me of how me and Savannah used to be.

"We been waitin' since you got here!"

"Yeah!" The red one has transformed, hands on his hips. I stare up at them with wide eyes. They're smaller than the others, maybe eleven feet, tops, but they're no less intimidating . "We needs a good washin'!"

I glare at them. "Wait your turn," I tell them. "I'm going to take care of Bumblebee—"

"You know what?" Skids pipes up. "We ain't gonna take this, is we, Mudflap?"

"No we _ain't_," Mudflap, the reddish orange one says, folding his arms and towering over me. I hold my ground.

"I'm not scared of you," I tell them. "Now shut up and wait your turn."

"Yo!" Skids shoves Mudflap in the shoulder, causing him to stagger dangerously. I wonder why Bumblebee and Prime aren't intervening. "You hear dat? Did she just say dat to _us_?"

"I think she did!"

"You don't talk to _us_ like dat—"

"I'll talk to you however I damn well please," I snap, throwing my wet sponge at Skids. It hits his face and sticks for a second before falling to the ground with a wet splat. He looks startled, and then his brother points a finger at him and starts laughing.

"She got you good!"

"Shut it!"

And then they start bickering with each other, which turns into an all-out tussle. At first it's funny to watch and listen to the muffled exclamations. But then their fighting quickly escalates and they're shifting toward me. I have a brief _oh, shit_ moment before Bumblebee and Prime transform. I turn to run as the twins roll toward me, still throwing punches and kicks and curses. They're right on top of me, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to be crushed when a large hand seizes me off the ground.

I'm lifted into the air so quickly that my ears pop and I get a head rush. I suck in a breath and let loose a huge shriek, one that makes my throat hurt when I realize exactly whose grip I'm in. It's not Bumblebee's; he's separating the twins and, as I watch, bashing their heads together before shaking them.

I'm in Prime's fist.

_I'm in Prime's fist._

I scream again, flailing madly, beating his metal fingers with my palms. I'm close to his chest so I manage to land a kick to one of the plates, trying my best to hurt him.

"_Put me down! Put me down! Don't touch me!"_

Panic grips my chest at being so close to him, to this—this _murderer_, this monster. My heart hammers and I know, I just _know_ he's going to kill me. And I don't want to die. I really, really don't want to die, not before I have a chance to—

Before I know it my feet are on solid ground. My arms are drawn protectively around my face, my shoulders hunched, and it takes me a moment to realize I've let loose another shriek. I cut it short, staggering back before turning and running away a few steps, knocking over my bucket as I go and stumbling over it. I spin around to face them, feeling for all the world like a small animal surrounded by a pack of salivating dogs.

Both of my hands are knotted in my hair, and I realize it's completely silent outside. Bumblebee, each of his hands trapping one of the twins' helmets, is staring at me, head tilted, looking confused. Prime is standing a few feet away from me, watching me with those glowing blue eyes, his eyes flickering around uncertainly, like he's not sure how to respond to this. He scratches at the back of his head, looking almost ashamed. Mudflap and Skids are both in awkward positions, half on the ground, their mouths hanging open in the most ridiculous expressions I've ever seen.

Bumblebee breaks the stillness by bashing their heads together.

"Yo, man, not cool!" "Take it easy, yo!" The twins say at the same time, and he releases their heads and they half-fall to the ground, on their hands and knees, still staring at me.

The situation is so terrifying and so absurd that I want to laugh. But I don't. I just clasp one hand to my throat and fold the other over my heart, me against the bots as they're silent again, watching me. Metal groans as Prime shifts his weight.

From the hangar a soldier comes running out, armed, looking alert. He takes in the scene, glances around and spotting no immediate signs of danger, looks to Prime.

"Everything alright out here?"

Prime doesn't answer immediately; he glances at me uncertainly before giving the soldier a nod. The soldier looks at me, then at the bots, before returning inside.

And then they're all staring at me again, and I tilt my head down, avoiding their eyes, biting my lip. My hands are shaking, whether from fear or anger I can't be sure. Maybe it's a combination of both.

"Wow," one of the twins says with a whistle. "Dis is awkward."

Prime sighs. "Carmen," he says in that low voice. "I did not intend to frighten you—"

"Yeah, well, you did," I snap. He takes a step toward me—a huge step, bringing us very close.

"Carmen—"

"Stay _away_ from me," I snarl. "Don't you dare come closer."

He seems to deflate slightly and pinches the bridge of his metal nose. He looks slightly dejected, but as regal as ever. Finally he looks at me again.

"I am sorry," he says, before turning to Bumblebee. "Keep the twins under control."

Bumblebee nods and Prime transforms without another word, driving back into the hangar, leaving the three of us alone. Skids whistles, now standing, grinning.

"Whoa!" he says, "Dat's prolly da coolest thing I seen in a long-ass time! You see dat, Mudflap?"

"You bet yo candy ass I did!" he says, amped up like a little kid. "We was all wrestlin' and stuff, and I ain't even noticed the kid, and we's 'bout to crush 'er and then—_shiiiing!_—boss is there, savin' 'er life all slick-like!"

"Man, he like a ninja or somethin'," Skids sighs, "I wish we was dat cool."

"What'choo talkin' 'bout?" Mudflap snaps, sounding offended. "I'm cool like dat!"

"You full of it, too."

And somehow it turns into a challenge, and the two are demonstrating the scene, each of them playing Prime's part, complete with a ninja roll and intense sound effects. Bumblebee is just shaking his head in exasperation. He finally gets up and hits them both on the head.

Watching them, the twins, has calmed me somewhat. I refill my bucket, but the water is like ice now. Bumblebee gives them a threatening look before transforming and allowing me to scrub him down. He hums contentedly as I do so and shudders a couple of times, much to my amusement.

As I'm washing, the twins are watching me. I glance up in time to see Skids elbow Mudflap.

"Dat's gon' be us," he says. "Man, I can't wait to be all clean again."

"You's just gonna be dirty again tomorrow," Mudflap says, folding his arms. "You gonna work the kid out for nothin'."

"If she takes care a me like she takin' care a him, I'll be makin' a point to get filthy."

Mudflap tilts his head and looks at me, and I try to ignore them. "You know what?" he says, "You's right! Yo, Bee! How she treatin' ya?"

Bumblebee flashes his headlights a couple of times and I glance down at him; I'm leaning awkwardly over the hood, working on the windshield.

The twins elbow each other eagerly, making a few more irritating comments. But they're bored again.

"Man," Mudflap sighs, "this waitin' stuff's boring."

"Yeah," Skids agrees.

"Play some good jams, Skids," Mudflap says, and his brother obeys. The radio flickers around for a few moments before they settle on a song, and I can't help but want to laugh. Of _course_ they're choose a song like this; _Jump Around_, by House of Pain.

They both seem happy with the song and Bumblebee makes a funny noise beneath me.

"Alright, all done," I say, and as I look at him I can't help but remember the way he held me in his hands, trapped like an insect. I swallow and take a step away.

"_Don't worry 'bout a thing,"_ his raido sings, clashing harshly with the other lyrics, _"'cause every little thing is gonna be alright."_

I just snort and tug the towel off his hood. I glance back at the twins, who are rapping _badly_ to the song and dancing even worse; not that I'm fantastic or anything, but I have _some_ rhythm, unlike these morons. Still, as irritating as they are, they've never personally done any wrong by me, and neither has Bumblebee—except for holding me captive, but I can't blame him for that.

Bumblebee transforms and looks at his arms, nodding his approval and making a slight bowing motion. I roll my eyes at him, muttering, and look at the twins, stretching my back.

"Okay," I say, "you two, Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumb over there, you're up."

Skids is too busy jamming out to have a quick reaction, so Mudflap makes it to me first, laughing at his brother, who looks dejected.

"Don't worry, big guy," I tell him, smirking. "I save the best for last."

"Hey!" Mudflap whines from his radio. I just shrug, telling him to shut up.

Skids is still screeching to the song as I start to wash his brother, and I finally whirl around.

"Hey, Skids," I call, and he freezes, a goofy look on his face, almost cartoon-like. I want to draw it.

"Huh?"

"Who sings that song?"

He looks offended. "House o' Pain!" he cries. "Don' chu know nothin'?"

"House of Pain?" I echo, and he nods. I grin. "Let's keep it that way."

It takes him a moment to realize I'm insulting him, and his brother is snickering; even Bumblebee, still monitoring them, makes a sound like a smirk.

"Yeah?" Skids says, obviously wounded, "I bet'choo can't do no better!"

My competitive side flares. "Don't even go there."

"Oh, he went there," Mudflap says.

Bumblebee's eyes flicker between Skids and me; I've stopped washing Mudflap for a moment. From Bumblebee's radio comes the classic sound from the old cowboy movies, the one that always plays when hero is about to have a shootout with the bad guy. He finishes it off with a twangy, _"This town ain't big enough fer the two of us."_

"Aight," Skids says. "Aight. Let's see what'choo got."

He starts the song over and takes over the first verse while I roll my eyes and continue to wash his brother, going slowly just to throw him off; Mudflap even moans, muttering "She good, bro, she _good_." Bumblebee laughs.

Finally, Skids gets the the _Jump, jump, jump, jump_ part, and it's my turn. I toss my sponge in the bucket, unable to believe I'm about to do this, but I need to show him up. I wait, keeping the beat, and start. Savannah and I grew up listening to this song. There's no way this robot is going to beat me.

"_I'll serve your ass like John MacEnroe_

_If your steps up, I'm smacking the ho_

_Word to your moms I came to drop bombs_

_I got more rhymes than the bible's got psalms_

_And just like the Prodigal Son I've returned_

_Anyone stepping to me you'll get burned_

_Cause I got lyrics and you ain't got __**none**_

_So if you come to battle bring a shotgun_

_But if you do you're a fool, cause I duel to the death,"_ I give him a pointed look at this part and finish the verse.

_"Try and step to me you'll take your last breath_

_I gots the skill, come get your fill_

_Cause when I shoot ta give, I shoot to kill_

_I came to get down, I came to get down…"_

Bumblebee whistles and applauds. Skids gives me a dirty look and we finish the chorus together, both of us jumping around like the song says.

"Tie breaker!" Mudflap says when the next verse starts up, and we alternate lines. My cocky side is definitely coming out, and I can tell Skids is growing more and more irritated. Bumblebee is watching intently, and Mudflap is cheering his brother on.

"Whoop 'er ass, bro!"

Skids starts dancing and, determined not to be shown up, I start dancing, too. Finally the song ends and I'm a little out of breath from all the jumping and rapping, and Bumblebee starts applauding.

"I win!" Skids says, "You suck, I win!"

"What? Shut the hell up, you sucked so much ass it's not even funny. You couldn't even get the lyrics right!"

"I did too!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

Bumblebee is laughing again, shaking his head, making a time-out sign with his hands. And then, looking at Skids's expression, I just start laughing. I lean against Mudflap and laugh—when was the last time I'd done something like that? God, it felt good.

"_What in the name of Cybertron are you __**doing**__?"_

Megs's voice in my ear makes me jump, and I almost slide down Mudflap's hood.

"_Focus on the task at hand, Parker Rook. Do not be a foolish child."_

Oh my God, I am mortified. I can't believe he heard that. I want to crawl into a hole and just _die_. I know he only tunes in every so often, relying on me to report at the end of my day, but really, of all the times for him to check up on me…

I turn abruptly from Bumblebee and Skids and continue working on Mudflap. They're still joking and making fun of our little battle, and by the time I've finished Mudflap, Skids has warmed up to me. Mudflap transforms, inspecting my work with a low whistle.

"I definitely be comin' back," he tells me, winking and nudging my shoulder with a fist. He glances at Bumblebee. "I like her, man. Yo, Skids we gon' keep her. She gon' be our human pet."

Skids, having already transformed into the Beat, makes an excited sound, trembling.

"Oh, dayum," he says through the radio, "I always wanted a human pet! We can buy 'er cute clothes, an' take 'er places, and…"

He trails off and Bumblebee just looks amused, giving me a slight shrug.

"I'm not your pet," I tell them, but they ignore me.

"What we gon' name 'er?"

"My name is Carmen," I snap.

"Yeah, but dat's a stupid name," Skids says, and then they throw names back and forth: Shadow, Scooter, Robo-Warrior, Hands, Rugburn, and a few others too horrible to mention. Finally, they've narrowed it down to two, much to my displeasure: Roadkill and Curly. They ask Bumblebee for his opinion, and he makes a motion, clearly preferring to stay out of it.

"Both of those names are _stupid_," I growl, and besides, how many names can a girl have? Parker, Carmen, and now _this_?

"You stupid," Skids snaps back. "I dunno, man. I kinda like Roadkill."

"What?" I practically shriek. "Why?"

"Cause it sounds _tight,_" he says, with an insinuated _duh_ at the end.

"It sounds _disgusting_."

"Makes sense, though," Mudflap says with a shrug.

"How does that make sense?"

"Cause," he says, "you was almost roadkill when me an' Skids was fightin'."

"No," I say, "no, no, no, no, _hell no_. No way."

They ignore me and look at each other, then at Bumblebee, who shrugs.

"Roadkill it is."

**Roadkill. How horrible is that? Originally she was going to be Curly, but I liked the idea of them calling her Roadkill constantly, because it would bother her and it seemed like something they would do. Also, it sounds too much like Carly from the 3****rd**** movie. I really hope you guys liked this chapter! The next is on the way! I'm on a roll ;) **

**Reviews are love!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Note: Kind of a filler. Some Optimus/Parker interaction, and I kind of like it. Let me know what you think? And I know the part with Megs was small and minor, but it had a HUGE impact on her. **

**(I own only Parker/Carmen and the story idea)**

Chapter 6

"_How_ long have you been here?"

It's around 2 pm, the middle of the afternoon when Lennox bangs on my door, waking me. I stumble grumpily to the door, still half asleep, still not entirely used to my new schedule, and swing it open in irritation.

"Two weeks," I mumble, scrubbing my hand over my face after he asks the question. "Why?"

He nods to himself, and there's definitely something in the slope of his strong shoulders, something like severe annoyance.

"That's what I thought," he says, tapping his fingers against this thigh. "So would you mind explaining _why_, in the two weeks that you've been here, you haven't managed to clean Optimus? He's _filthy_."

I run a hand through my sleep-wild hair, biting my lip.

"Look," I say, "I just run out of time—"

"That's bullshit and you know it," he says. "Because I know you spend plenty of time screwing around with the twins when you _could_ be, say, _doing your job_."

"I'm sorry—"

"No," he replies, "you're _lazy_." A moment later his eyes soften and he sighs. I look away from him, annoyed but also very much aware that he has a point. I can't avoid it much longer. "I'm not stupid, Carmen," he says tiredly, and when I open my mouth to say that I'd never thought he was stupid, he just holds a hand up, cutting me off. "I can see you've got something against him, and I'm not sure what it is. But he sees it—we can all see it. And I've got so many people on my ass for letting you stay here. I just need you to do your job right. Every day something is done wrong, such as a dirty truck, I get hell for it."

"I'm sorry," I say, casting my eyes downward. I never meant to cause him any trouble. In the two weeks that I've been here I've grown to genuinely like him. He claps a large hand down on top of my head.

"I need you to take care of him _tonight_. No exceptions. And I want him to look the best he's ever looked in his life when you're done. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir," I mumble. He leans against the door frame.

"Other than that," he says slowly, "you've been doing a fair job." A smile makes its way to his eyes. "I hear you've hit it off with the twins?"

I nod. Ever since the _Jump Around_ incident, the other bots had all been playing clips of the song and making fun of us. The twins had tried to involve me in another battle, but I'd turned them down every time since; not to say that we don't still have fun together.

"Yeah," I say after I realize he's waiting for me to reply. "Yeah, they're ridiculous, but they're… endearing."

"Yeah that's one way to put it," Lennox laughs before his eyes go serious again. "Anyway. I can see you've got something against Optimus, whatever that may be, and I need you to get over it. He's saved us all multiple times. He's a good guy. Have a little respect, okay?"

"Got it."

"Good," he says, then looks me up and down with a grin. "I take it I woke you up. Get some rest; I want you out when it starts to get dark."

"Yes, sir," I reply. He pushes my shoulder gently but with enough force to rock me back a little bit before walking away. I close my door and black out the room, crawling back into bed.

I haven't heard from Megs much the past week; normally he's sleeping while I'm awake, and vice versa. I know he tunes in every once in a while, reminding me of an objective or reprimanding me when I'm screwing off with the twins, but that's about it. And his lack of guidance is only making me more and more confused.

I've been observing these robots _obsessively_ for the last two weeks, looking for weaknesses, for flaws. I've reported everything I've found in a tactical sense to Megs, such as personality flaws that could help him (Ironhide's hotheadedness and unwillingness to back down from a fight, for example) but he already knows all of these things. One time I learned of Sam Witwicky's location, but Megs didn't care about that, either; said there was a bigger plan in the making.

Any questions I'd had about the bots I had asked Megs. When things didn't add up, when I wasn't finding the obvious cruelty from them that I'd been expecting, I'd asked him about it. He's only given me the same answers: That they are liars.

But sometimes I have to wonder.

These guys genuinely believe that they are Autobots, fighting on the side of good, all of them noble warriors. Though I'm still apprehensive about Prime, though I still hate him for what he did, I'm still just… so _confused_. I'm thinking about calling a meeting with Megs, if I can find a way to get away. And I'm still afraid of working with Prime tonight, but there's no way out of it. If I want to stay, I need to do this. And I feel bad for causing Lennox trouble, considering he's never been anything but kind to me.

Tonight, I decide, I'll have some questions answered.

* * *

><p>Tonight rolls around much faster than I would have liked. I'm so nervous, so upset that I'm literally shaking. I've completed all of my other tasks first as I've always done, cleaned the hangar, waxed the cars, added some ArmorAll, made them all shiny and new looking. When I realize there's no other way out of it, I finally call Prime outside.<p>

Normally, the twins would have followed. The fact that they don't come with me makes my heart flutter as I wonder what's being planned. For the most part, the bots have made me feel so comfortable that I rarely worry about them killing me—another cause for confusion.

I walk behind the truck, glancing back toward the hangar where the others are presumably sleeping. I get my supplies ready as Prime parks himself, mentally telling myself that he won't try anything, he won't kill me, not with everyone else only feet away. Surely the twins won't let any harm come to me?

"Okay," I say once the hose is on and ready. "Let's do this."

I hesitate very near the truck, knowing that I need to get down underneath it, but terrified to do so. I swallow the lump of fear in my throat before raising my hand and touching him tentatively with my knuckles.

"I'm heading under," I say, trying to control the shake in my voice, "_please_ don't run me over, okay?"

"I won't move," he promises. I take a moment to steel myself before crawling under, first removing pieces of branch that, when you put them all together, could form an entire _tree_. When that's done I wet it all down and scrub the dirt and grease and grime. By the time I wiggle back out from underneath, unscathed, thankfully, I'm _filthy_. I suppose it serves me right for putting it off for so long, but I'm still a little annoyed.

I grab a stepstool, the kind like a small ladder with a few steps on it and take to cleaning his exterior. Neither of us speaks, but it's an awkward, uncomfortable silence. I'm still extremely tense, and there's obviously something hovering in the air between us that isn't being said. Actually, I realize, there's many things between us, secret things—the accident, the death of my mother and brother, the fact t that every day I am here I am betraying the twins and the other bots… it's all there, the evil secrets, but I don't know if he senses them.

Finally, the truck rumbles with what I think must be a sigh. "Lennox spoke to you, didn't he?" Prime asks as I wash his driver-side door.

"He did," I say softly, still touching him gingerly, afraid. Another sigh.

"I asked him not to. But I suppose he thinks he knows best."

"Probably," I reply. I swallow, looking anywhere but at the truck I'm washing. I know he's wondering what my problem is, considering the only ones I'm skittish and hostile around are him and Ratchet, but I know he'll never ask. He doesn't seem the type. I bite my lip.

"How are you adjusting?" he finally asks as I move on to other parts of the car. I wish he would quit talking to me. His voice is one of the most pleasant I've ever heard in my life, and hearing the _kindness_ in it kills me. I wonder if he even remembers that day. I wonder if it still haunts him.

"Fine," I tell him. "It was hard at first, and I still don't—" I cut myself off, but he knows where I was headed.

"You still don't trust us," he finishes.

"I still don't trust you," I confirm, putting a little emphasis on the _you_. He catches it, but before he can say anything I continue on before I lose my nerve. "I actually have a few questions."

He is silent for a moment, and I wish I could tell what he's thinking. Finally he speaks.

"I'll answer whatever I can."

I nod. "Why did you do it?" I ask. "I mean… why did you leave with the… the All Spark, or send it away, or whatever? It ended your race."

A heavy sigh.

"It was not an easy decision," he says heavily. "Every day, I think of what could have been. But had we not done what we did, Megatron would have taken over, and—"

"But your race would have survived."

"There is a difference between _living_ and _surviving_, Carmen," he says, and the quiet pain in his words weighs down on my shoulders. "There would have been chaos and tyranny under his rule. You believe in freedom, do you not?"

"I do," I murmur, slowing to circular strokes on his hood.

"And your people have had many revolutions against tyrants?"

"We have," I don't know why I'm whispering, but I am.

"We are not so different," he says gently. "The Autobots and myself; we believe that freedom is the right of all sentient beings. We believe that all life is precious. Megatron and the Decepticons are power-hungry. They destroy, and when they have destroyed one thing, they move on to the next."

"So they're here now… hunting you?"

It only takes me a moment to realize I've made a mistake. "The Decepticons have been inactive lately," he replies. "I do not know how many of them remain, if any do. Barricade's incident was an isolated one, and one that we cannot make sense of. We've been helping your people to resolve their conflicts." I realize he has no idea that they're actually planning something.

This is wrong. This is all wrong. But, in his voice, it is clear that he honestly believes what he is saying. Everything he's told me has been with such sincerity… I'm frustrated again, but mostly because I don't understand. I'm trying to make sense of this mess in my head.

"But," I counter, "how can we be sure you won't leave _us_?"

"We will never leave." I'm drying him off now. "As long as your planet offers us refuge, and as long as we are more help than hindrance, we will remain. The soldiers here are some of the bravest warriors I've ever seen, and it is an honor to fight alongside them."

I'm silent for a while, taking this all in, trying so hard to make it all add up. And it's so hard. I'm an intelligent person, yes, but some things just can't be forced to work. It's giving me a headache. I _need_ to talk to someone, but I need to get out of here first.

I finish drying him off in silence, still thinking. Megs hasn't heard this conversation, and listening to it on my own, without him in my ear to tell me what's right has left me reeling. I glance back into the hangar, my knee braced against Prime's hood (this truck is _huge_), and I'm able to spot the others. None of them have moved.

I climb down ungracefully and back away, giving him space to transform if he wants to. He does. I watch the 32-foot-tall leader inspect himself, nodding his approval. He looks down at me and I look away quickly, staring off into the distance. I can still feel his eyes on me, standing very close, and I finally look up at him again.

"_What_," I snap. "Did I miss something?"

"No," he says, his tone patient. "But you didn't run away from me this time."

He's right. I turn my body away from him so he can't see my face anymore. I hear metal groan and shift behind me, but I don't turn to see what he's doing. The wind stirs my hair, tossing curls in my eyes and I push them away. I find myself staring up at the sky, a habit I'd developed once I'd learned that there were aliens out there. I wonder how many other races there are, and the thought that I'm not entirely alone on my speck of a planet has always been comforting.

Thinking about it, about all the possibilities out there boggles my mind, but in a good way. It's the sort of thing I can think about for hours on end, especially considering that I _know_ there are others out there. Sometimes I wonder about heaven, too, and wonder who is watching over me, if anyone. I have _never_ felt Savannah around me like some people claim to, but I refuse to believe that he's abandoned me.

"Do you want to go back inside?" Prime asks, and I've almost forgotten his presence. I start a little at the sound of his voice, hugging my arms around my torso. I shake my head.

"No," I say. There's a familiar itching, a tension in my muscles. It's been two weeks since I've done any training, and my body isn't used to this lapse. I'm restless, I want to move, I want to… to _run_. The familiar urge hits me every so often, when I'm feeling stressed or confused or trapped inside my own head. Maybe it's the fight or flight instinct we have, but for things like this, emotional problems, my body always chooses _flight_. And I'm feeling it, right now.

I stare off into the darkness. I've never been outside here during the day, so I don't know what surrounds the base, but I don't see many lights. I wonder what would happen if I just picked a direction and ran—away from the confusion, away from Prime, away from all of this. The worst part, the horrible, sick part of all of this is that, somehow, I've been happier these last two weeks than I have since I lost my family. I've laughed often, something I hadn't imagined doing for a long, long time.

"Where is it," I ask impulsively, mostly because I can't stand the thoughts skittering around like mice in my head. "Your planet, I mean."

I've never asked Megs this, and I don't know why. I've always been curious. There is a silence, and I wonder if he's gone back inside and I haven't heard it. I don't turn around to look, but I start walking. But then I hear it. He's following me, and when I finally stop again, at a place where the concrete is dry, he gets down on one knee beside me.

"Look there," he says, pointing out at the stars. "Do you see that constellation? You call it Orion."

"Yeah," I murmur, following his finger. It helps that I know the constellation.

"It's there," he says.

"You mean Betelgeuse?" I ask, because it looks like that's the star he's pointing at.

"No," he says with something like a low chuckle. "No, you can't see Cybertron from here. But it's there, very far away, in that direction."

I strain my eyes, somewhat determined to find it. He sees this and chuckles again. Out of the corner of my eye I see him move his hand and I shy away slightly. He moves his hand back and makes a sound like clearing his throat.

We keep staring at the sky for a while, my eyes roving the constellations but always returning to the place where he said his home was.

"You're still wary of me," he says after a while. It's not an accusation, and there's nothing bitter or ulterior in his words. He may as well be saying _it's dark outside_.

"You're the leader," I reply, but there's something in _my _voice. What I'm really saying is _You killed my family._ "One word from you and my planet could be destroyed."

"I would never do that," he says. "Your planet is young, but it is precious. And—"

"I know," I cut him off. "Life is precious. So you've _never_ killed a human?" I'm heading into dangerous territory, I know, but I need to go there.

"Indirectly, myself and the Autobots are to blame for the deaths of many humans," he says. "We've saved who we can, but in every war, there are casualties—"

"But this isn't _our_ war!" I snap suddenly, turning to face him. "You shouldn't even_ be_ here. If you weren't here, _none_ of them would have died."

"Do you think," he says slowly, and now his voice carries an undertone of anguish, "that I am unaware of this fact?"

My hands are in fists, my jaw clenching and unclenching. Finally I turn away from him and from the stars and walk back toward the hangar, gathering my things. "I'm going back inside," I practically snarl. He watches me for a moment, then comes over to me, holding out his hand for the supplies.

"I've got it," I snap.

"Let me help."

"I said I can handle it."

He looks down at me, rubbing his forehead with his fingers, one hand on his hip. He looks almost frustrated with me.

"As you wish," he finally says.

I make it back into the hangar and when I've stored my things I head off toward my room.

"Carmen," Prime's voice echoes behind me. "Lennox told me that if you did well, you'd be allowed a day of leisure later today, once you wake. You did well."

I nod. I don't thank him or anything. Instead I head to my room, practically run to it when I see it and fling myself inside, slamming the door. It's early for me to go to sleep now, only 6am, but I lay in bed anyway. I try to contact Megs. It takes a few tries, but I get him. By the annoyance in his voice, I can tell I've woken him.

"Hey," I say.

"_This had better be good."_

"I have free time later today," I say. "I need to talk to you."

"_Have you discovered something?"_

"Can we just talk, please?"

It's difficult, but we decide on a place. I'll meet him in 12 hours behind an old construction zone, one where we're unlikely to be seen. When the plans are made, I fall asleep, setting an alarm to wake me in only a few hours. I want to get an early start.

* * *

><p>It seemed to take ages for the plans to be worked out. But, after a lot of arguing, Lennox decided to let me go to the nearest mall, which happened to be near the construction zone. But with an <em>escort<em>. Having and escort did _not_ work into the plan.

Thankfully, Mudflap and Skids volunteered to go with me, claiming that, since I'm their pet, it was their duty. I opted to ride with Mudflap on the way there, promising to ride with Skids on the way back. They kept chattering about how "them 'Con's won't stand a chance" and how they'll keep me safe if one shows his "ugly-ass face" on the drive up, and I planned on escaping them easily enough.

Surprisingly, it had been easy to find my way out of the mall, away from them, and to the construction zone. So, finally, I'm standing in front of Megs, feeling nervous. I don't know why, but I do.

"What is so important that we had to meet?" Megs asks, sounding irritated. I realize that he's always sounded this way, but I've forgotten after two weeks with the bots.

"Well," I say, "I've been with them for two weeks, Megs. And… and I just don't _know_."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the stories I've been told. Megs, they _really_ believe they're the Autobots. They really believe they're the good guys. And I mean that makes sense, because I'm pretty sure in any war no side thinks _Oh, hey, we're the bad guys, let's tear shit up and destroy the good guys_, but I don't know, Megs, this is different. It's just…"

I trail off. I realize I'm rambling, and Megs is staring at me with a terrifying look in his eyes.

"Have they gotten to you, my bird?

"What? No, of course not, but I'm just saying—"

"I told you what they would do, did I not?"

"No, you _did_, but—but I've seen how they act, you know? It's been two weeks, and they don't seem vicious… Megs, maybe this is all just a big misunderstanding! You guys really aren't that different—"

Megs roars, throwing his head back. I'm not sure if he's laughing or if he's angry. I stare at the ground nervously, chewing my lower lip.

"You disappoint me," he finally says, and his words sting. I flinch, as though physically struck. "I thought you were stronger than this. Two weeks, and you've become their pet."

"I am not their pet!" I snap, regretting it immediately. He looks livid.

"You will go back to them," he says slowly, "and you will continue the plan. And you will remember your place, Parker Rook. You are there as a spy; nothing more. You think they like you? You think those idiot twins like _you?_ They like who you pretend to be."

He pauses, looking at me.

"Think about this, the next time you feel that we are alike: If you revealed to them who you really are, would they treat you with the same kindness that I have?"

I swallow. I know he's right.

"They don't like _you_," he says again. "They like _Carmen._ They like the girl you created to worm your way inside and destroy them. Do not forget that."

"I'm sorry," I breathe. "You're right. You're right. I was—that was stupid, I just—"

"Stop babbling," he snaps. "Do you have anything else to tell me?"

"No," I whisper.

"Think twice the next time you considering bothering me about something like _this_," he snarls, and starts to walk away.

"Wait!" I call, impulsively again. It's hard to hide the hurt, but I manage. "Megs, _wait._"

"What is it?"

I glance at the sky and ask him the question I'd never asked before: "Where is Cybertron?"

He looks irritated. "Why are you asking me stupid questions?" he demands. "Do not waste my time with this foolishness. Cybertron is dead. Now leave."

I obey. I turn and run back through the small town. I don't know where it is—I wasn't allowed to see where we were driving, and Mudflap had taken that part of his assignment very seriously. It takes twenty minutes of running to make it back to the mall, and I spend a few minutes going through random stores, grabbing the basics: shorts, jeans, tops, bras, and underwear. I also stop by a little bookstore outlet and grab a couple of books, then by a tiny store and buy a large sketchpad and some pencils on a whim.

When I finally make it back outside, Skids pulls up.

"Took you long enough!" he says as his brother comes around the corner. "Get in. What'choo buy?"

"Clothes," I tell him.

"Man, Roadkill, you so boring! We gotta fix dat!"

I just nod.

"Put yo' head down," he instructs me, and I do, making sure I can't see out the window. I'm not sure why they're taking these precautions—probably on Ironhide's word; he's still suspicious of me.

Skids seems to sense something's wrong.

"Yo, Roadkill, you okay?"

"I'm fine, Skids."

"You don' seem fine," he says.

"I just miss my family, Skids."

"You ain't got no family, 'member?" he says. "You's a orphan. But dat's okay. We's yo' family now, ain't dat right, Mudflap?"

Mudflap pulls up beside us, windows rolled down so they can communicate.

"Dat's right, Roadkill, we yo' family. You ain't got no reason to be sad."

I have no idea what to do or say, so I stay silent. They're my family? We've known each other two weeks. They know nothing about me, and yet… I swallow and rub my eyes, shifting my weight. Skids jiggles the seat.

"No peakin'!"

"I'm not," I assure him. "I'm kinda tired, guys… if you don't mind?"

"'Course, no problem-o," Skids says, and starts to play a lullaby on the radio. I laugh and lean my head on my knees, trying to close out the world, unable to shake the feeling that something is just _wrong_ with my world.

* * *

><p><strong>How do you like it so far? If you could let me know a couple of things in your reviews, that would be great:<strong>

**What was your favorite part?**

**Is it moving too fast, too slow, or just right?**

**Reviews keep me going, and the more I get, the more I want to write. I really do appreciate it when people take the time to review—I know it's much easier to just lurk, but I really do appreciate it!**

**Love you guys, thanks for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Note: Longest chapter! I love the conflict Parker is feeling in this chapter. I know she babbles about it for a long time, but that's just the way she is. She's being eaten alive by the guilt, and she can't stop thinking about it, examining every angle. Sorry if you think it goes on too long, but I think, for Parker, it's about right.**

**Also, more cute Parker/Optimus bonding. Yay! Also, Parker has a little breakthrough. Yay again!**

**(I own only Parker/Carmen and the story idea)**

Chapter 7

Have you ever done something so bad that you're afraid you'll never be able to make up for it? The sort of thing that keeps you up at night, squirming with guilt and uncertainty, those two terrible words, _what if_, torturing you into sleeplessness?

I try to reason with myself, to justify it; Megs hurt me, the last time I'd seen him; a slow, oozing emotional wound, the kind that festers and creates doubt. He'd left me more confused than anything else thus far. On the same day, Optimus Prime had treated me with kindness, while Megs had snapped at me. I had asked them both the same question, and I had gotten two very different results, results that I hadn't expected.

I know it's stupid, and I know Megatron had probably just been annoyed with me, worried that I was losing sight of my mission. He worries about me, naturally. He's my family, and he doesn't want me to get too comfortable with the enemy. That's normal, right?

Besides, when I thought about it, it _had_ been stupid of me to ask him where his planet had been. It had been completely irrelevant, and Megatron doesn't like his time to be wasted. His reaction was natural, nothing against me. So why had it hurt _so much?_ It's stupid of me to still linger over it; that one moment, that one, tiny moment, won't stop replaying in my head. Optimus Prime's kindness, his patience, against Megatron's anger.

That's why it hurt, I realize. The enemy had been kinder than Megatron had. I hadn't been expecting it.

So when I lied to him, when I told Megatron that nothing of interest had happened, that was okay, wasn't it? I was just hurt. People do stupid things when they're hurt. And besides, if he never found out, no one would be the worse for it. I would make it up to him. I would find a way to tell him later. He would never know that I had lied to him.

I'm petty, and I am selfish, and I am a coward in every sense of the words. I shouldn't have lied. That was so, so _wrong_. What am I doing here, if I am lying to him, feeding him false information? What is _wrong_ with me? I make myself sick.

But then, on the other hand, every moment I spend with Mudflap and Skids is torture. It's been a few weeks since the mall, since I've met with Megatron, and the two and I have grown very close. There's an unbreakable bond between them, a bond that I am familiar with, and I feel more comfortable with them and their humor than anyone else on base.

They're just soldiers. They're innocent in all of this, and I don't want them hurt. I'm here for Optimus Prime, I keep telling myself. Mudflap, Skids… they don't have to get hurt. Not if I play my cards right. They aren't _really_ the enemy here.

I tug on my hair, sitting on my crate outside. I've gotten better at washing the cars and cleaning the hangar, so I've had more time to hang out with the twins and watch the other bots. And I just don't know what to do anymore. I've never been so conflicted.

On the one hand, I know that they're the enemy.

On the other hand, they _aren't_ cruel. I'm certain of it. But my family, Megatron and Starscream and Barricade… they're mean, but they're not _evil_. I'm _sure_ that there's just been some sort of misunderstanding. I want to make Megatron _see_ that, but I'm not sure how. I just don't want anyone to get hurt.

So when Optimus Prime, Ironhide, and Ratchet had gone out on a secret mission, and when Megatron has asked me that same day, as he did every day, if I had anything to report, I had said _no_. I had lied. And it had been killing me ever since.

I had no doubt that Megatron would have loved the information, taken it as an opportunity to strike back, to finally devise a plan to kill the leader; how often did he leave base without a majority of his soldiers?

It was the moment I had been waiting for…

And I had lied.

They had been gone for three days, and every day I had lied. They're back now, safe, unharmed. Apparently there had been a rogue "Decepticon" who had needed to be handled, but I was sure that it wasn't anyone that I knew. At the same time, I had never felt more treacherous. Because I had lied, someone on _our_ side had been killed.

I need to stop thinking about this. I pull myself out of my head and stare out at the bots. Most of them have been cramped in the hangar for too long, and are using tonight to move around outside, stretching themselves, running, making the ground beneath me rumble. I watch with a soft smile as Skids and Mudflap roll around together on the ground, as Sideswipe and Ironhide engage each other in a mock-battle, calling out teases to each other, mocking each other.

Sideswipe is _so_ fast, and he transforms with a speed and elegance that I've never seen before. One second he's a car; the next, a towering robot. Ironhide, for his size, is quick as well, but not quick enough. Sideswipe is skating around him in circles, laughing and teasing, and Ironhide is growing furious. I should be observing this _differently_, I should have every intention of reporting this to Megatron. But I don't. Sometimes I'm sure he doesn't tune in to me anymore. I'm not sure how much I can hide.

I find myself focusing on Sideswipe and Ironhide, fascinated by them. Every time one seems to have the upper hand, the other manages to turn the tables. They're so unpredictable. Finally, due to his superior strength, Ironhide manages to pin Sideswipe down. When they've established the win, Ironhide lets him up, laughing at his friend.

"Nice try," he says, clapping his friend on the shoulder. Sideswipe shrugs him off good-naturedly.

"One day, Ironhide," he says, "one day."

Ironhide just laughs, then turns to Prime. "Come on, old friend," he says, motioning with his fingers.

Prime actually grins and walks to meet his friend. Mudflap and Skids have stopped their struggle to watch curiously as the two gigantic bots begin to spar. Bumblebee comes up beside me and rests his hand on the crate, leaning casually against it, staring off at his leader and his friend.

I watch their mock-battle, and I can't help but notice how different it is compared to the fights I've seen between Starscream and Barricade and the others. These bots are hard on each other, yes, but their fight lacks the bloodlust that Barricade and Starscream have when they fight.

I understand immediately why Prime is the leader; Ironhide can't seem to gain the upper hand, and Prime is actually laughing; it's a loud, rich sound, comfortable, genuine, not like the hisses and malicious chuckles I'm used to.

"Careful!" Ratches calls, then starts muttering to himself, shaking his head.

It doesn't take long for Prime to pin Ironhide to the ground, face down, with one hand twisted behind his back. It was a good fight; they're more evenly matched than Sideswipe and Ironhide, but Prime is just… _better_. He laughs again as Ironhide grumpily gets to his feet. Prime elbows his chest gently with a laugh.

There's an air of _respect_ with these bots; they all respect each other, they all respect Prime, and they all genuinely care about each other. It's nothing like how Starscream is always muttering behind Megatron's back, or how Barricade is constantly feigning respect and obedience. This is something real, something true.

There's a general round of appreciative applause from the bots for Prime, and Ironhide looks sulky. I laugh softly at his expression and turn back down to my sketchpad. I've spent the last few weeks drawing like crazy, and I'm pleased to see that I haven't lost what little talent I had. Drawing has helped take my mind off my lies, off the confusion.

"What d'you have there?" I turn and see that Lennox has hoisted himself up on the crate and is sitting beside me, looking at the drawing. I shrug and close the book; I hate it when people try and look at my drawings. They're personal. He seems to sense this and lets the subject drop.

The ground rumbles, and when I look up I catch Bumblebee sprinting across the concrete, Sideswipe hard on his tail. An instant later, Sideswipe lunges forward and tackles him to the ground; sparks light up the light instantaneously.

"They're incredible, aren't they?" Lennox asks, nudging my shoulder with his playfully.

"They are," I agree.

"I see you're friendlier toward them," he observes slyly.

"Yeah," I reply. "They aren't as scary as they were at first. They're just… they're like people. Just bigger and more metallic and more alien."

Lennox cracks a grin. "So," he says, "Roadkill, eh?"

"Ugh," I groan. "Yeah, that's what Mudflap and Skids are calling me."

Lennox just starts laughing, and I glare at him. "They really like you," he finally says. "I can't imagine why, but they like you. Roadkill is all they ever talk about. At first it was a little weird, but once I found out _who_ Roadkill was, it made a little more sense."

I laugh, imagining the twins speaking fondly of roadkill, and I shake my head.

"They're something else," I say. "And they have this _bond_, Lennox. It's _incredible!_ They say human twins are close, you know? But they're exactly the same…" I trail off with a sigh. I'm comfortable around them because they remind me of my brother and me. They're familiar.

Lennox nudges me again.

"It pains me to say it," he says, "but I'm kind of glad we decided to keep you. It's done the twins good, too, having someone they think they're protecting."

"Happy to be of service," I say, and then the guilt settles in and I look away. _The twins don't have to be hurt_, I remind myself.

"Yo, Roadkill!" Mudflap is calling to me. "Quit bein' so borin' and get yo ass out here!"

"And do what?" I holler back.

"Show us what'choo got," Skids calls, hunching his shoulders and making his hands into fists, hopping up and down like a boxer.

I start laughing, look at Lennox, who just nods, and hop down off my crate.

"I'll see you tomorrow, kid," Lennox says. "I'm not nocturnal, like you seem to be. Night."

"Night," I say over my shoulder, rushing out to meet the twins. Lately I've been sparring with them, much like I used to with Barricade, except that the twins have never hurt me.

They're still a distance away as I'm walking toward them when Mudflap suddenly transforms into the Beat and starts rushing toward me.

"What are you—"

I cut myself off and scream, half-laughing, and turn and run the opposite direction. I can feel him hard on my heels, his headlights illuminating my running shadow. And then he transforms, tackling me and seizing me up in one hand, holding me in the air as he rolls on the ground before landing on his feet, laughing. I'm screaming and laughing like a maniac, yelling "_Nononononono!"_

Holding me in his hand, he zooms me around like a child would an airplane. I'm wriggling and screaming, but there's no real fear behind it. I manage to kick him in the eye and he drops me.

"Ow!" he says, "What was dat fo'?"

This time, though, my scream is genuine. It's a quick drop, and he barely manages to catch me; my hand skims the ground.

"You moron!" Skids calls, tackling him, sending us both flying as Mudflap releases me. I'm soaring through the air, and this time Bumblebee catches me.

"Good catch, Bee!" Skids calls.

Bumblebee holds me more gently, giving the twins a glare. They both glare back at him.

"Yo, giv 'er back!" Mudflap whines, "She's _my_ human!"

"Hey!" Skids protests, "she's _mine_!"

And then the bickering starts. Bumblebee shakes his head, looking me over, and all I can do is laugh a breathless laugh. Suddenly the twins have teamed together, and they attack Bumblebee from both sides. He starts running and they give chase. One goes for his legs and as he trips, the other snatches me from his hand.

Before I know it, Skids has transformed around me, and I'm inside the beat. However, the seats are all folded down, creating a flat surface. I'm on my hands and knees inside the car as he weaves around Prime's legs, then Ironhide's, making hard turns and throwing me around the car. Finally he skids to a halt, throwing me forward, before he starts to rock the car maniacally, tossing and bumping me around.

I'm not angry. I'm actually laughing so hard I'm breathless, because every time I steady myself, he knocks me down again.

"Stop!" I cry, tears streaking down my face from the laughter. I'm gasping for air. "Skids—_stop! No, no, no!"_

He just sniggers, continuing to toss me around, and I finally just succumb.

Everyone is in an exceptionally good mood tonight, I realize. Maybe because Prime's mission was a success, because they're home safe, and in the three days since they've been back, it's their first time to just _relax_ together. But there's a giddiness in the air, and no one seems immune to it.

Bumblebee is laughing as I'm getting tossed around the Beat. Even Ironhide seems amused; can hear his low chuckle. Prime warns Skids to be careful with me, but I'm not worried. I'm sure they won't hurt me.

Finally Skids opens the passenger door and tosses me out onto the pavement, where I sprawl, laughing. He transforms and leans over me with a goofy grin. He's close enough that I hit him in the chest with both of my feet, and then I just lay there, trying to catch my breath.

Mudflap comes up behind me and lifts me, setting me on my feet. We're a ways from the others by now, just the three of us, and I lean against Mudflap's leg. This is something I've never been able to do to Barricade or Starscream; the only one who ever let me close was Megatron, but it's not the same as what I'm doing now. We don't need to hide it now.

I reach up and hold on to one of Skids's fingers; he's standing on my other side. He looks down at me, almost startled, but then gives me a goofy grin.

"I always wanted a human," he says after a minute.

"I always wanted two robot best friends," I say in return. Both of them stare at each other, looking excited, than down at me.

"You really mean dat?" Mudflap asks. "Best friends?"

I just smile. I remember when they had told me that they were my family, and I want it to be true. I've never been this happy, at least not since the accident. My spine prickles as I remember the cause of the accident, standing behind us, 32-feet-tall and mighty. I close my eyes.

"Hey," Skids says, "you ok?"

"Yeah," I say, still holding his hand and leaning against Mudflap. I suddenly have a question for them. I need the reassurance. I need to know that what I'm doing is _right_, I need to know if they would do for each other what I'm doing for my brother.

"Hey," I say softly after a moment, and Skids sits down beside me. Mudflap follows suit. "You two love each other, right?"

They both seem to shudder at the phrase, but I know it's true.

"You'd do anything for each other?"

"'Course," Mudflap says, "nobody gonna be hurtin's Skids while I'm around, ain't dat right, bro?"

"Dat's right," Skids replies. "Ain't no one gon' mess wit' us."

"Ay," Mudflap pipes, "remember Egypt? We was so kickass."

They reminisce for a while, talking about how they had thought they had lost each other for a moment, about how they'd stepped up the fight then. I nod to myself.

"So if someone hurt one of you," I venture, "you'd do anything to make it right?"

"Someone hurts Mudflap," Skids says, "they gon' be wishin' them was never born."

"Yeah," Mudflap agrees.

We are all silent for a moment, then Skids pokes me in the shoulder with a huge finger. "Dat goes fo' you, too, Roadkill," he says. "No one be messin' wit' our Roadkill, or them's gonna get hell fo' it."

"Dat's right," Mudflap says. "You ain't got to be scared. We look out fo' who we love."

I swallow thickly and nod, taking both of their huge hands and drawing them into my lap. I want to tell them that I'm so sorry that I'm betraying them, that somehow I'll make it right, that I won't let either of them be hurt. I don't say any of this. Instead, I just kiss each one on a thumb. Again, they look startled, but then they look at me with affection.

We don't say much after that. After a few minutes, Ironhide calls them back inside to get some rest. They offer to take me in, but I want to stay out for a little longer, maybe draw. They stand, each one patting my head gently before running off to the hangar, racing each other. I laugh softly to myself.

I finally stand and look back at my crate, where my drawing things are. I'm startled to see that Optimus is there, my sketchpad held between two fingers, looking tiny in comparison to his hand. And it's a large sketchpad.

"Hey!" I call. "No—that's mine! Don't look!"

He glances up at me and within a few strides, he's at my side. He hands my pad and pencils out to me and I take them carefully. For the first time all night, I'm actually, genuinely tense.

Optimus Prime.

He's probably the most confusing one of all. Ever since that first night, when I'd asked him that one question, _Where is your planet, _I'd talked with him a little bit every night. He's never shown any hostility, no cruelty, nothing to suggest that he's as cruel and evil as Megatron says. He has _never _been anything but kind and patient with me. And, while he does seem to get frustrated with my stubborn streak, he has never snapped at me.

I spend too much time, I think, trying to get him to confess to my brother's death, and he never has. And while I _know_ he caused my brother's death, I can't get him to mention it at all. It's like it never happened. I've considered _everything_ at this point—that he suffered memory loss from the accident, or maybe it was even a different semi—but the fact that I'm making _excuses_ for him makes me sick.

The worst part is that I don't want it to be true. I don't _want_ him to have killed my brother, because it would ruin everything. Much to my frustration, it is difficult to see him as anything but a kind, noble leader; so different from how I had felt toward him the first time I had met him. I wish it was that simple again. I wish I had never gotten to know him.

It would be easier to hate him that way.

But _now_… I just can't make the pieces fit. Cold, cruel murderer does not fit in with the Optimus Prime that is standing before me, watching me curiously as I take my things from his huge hand. I want so badly to hate him, but he makes it so difficult. I feel like I'm betraying my brother. I feel like this is all part of some plan; maybe Prime _does_ remember me, and he's trying to mess with my head.

_That_, at least, fits in with the Optimus Prime that Megatron had told me about.

I can't believe I lied to _protect_ him, when he killed my brother.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?" He asks. It's the same question every night. I don't know why he keeps asking. Does he expect me to say I want him to leave?"

"No, go ahead," I say, folding my legs beneath me and sketching away. He stands beside me, staring out into the darkness. His eyes cast a soft blue glow in the air.

He does this every night, and I can't figure out why. I've looked around; there's nothing to see, just darkness and the sky. After a few minutes I close my sketchpad and glance up at him.

"Why do you do that?" I ask. "There's nothing to see."

He looks down at me. "From down there, maybe," he says. "But from here, the view is incredible."

I blink, then sigh. "I wish I was thirty-something feet tall," I say with a grin and he chuckles softly.

"I can show you," he offers. I blink at him as he lowers his hand, palm out, fingers stretched flat. When I don't move he just nods. "Perhaps another time, then."

"No, wait," I say suddenly as he begins to withdraw his hand. "Wait."

He lowers his hand again and waits patiently. I move my things aside and just stare for a moment, debating with myself. It must be minutes later, and he still hasn't moved. Finally I step forward and climb carefully onto his hand.

Very gently he lifts me up so that I'm eye level. I turn and look out into the distance, following his gaze, and gasp slightly. He's right. It's amazing the difference thirty feet can make. I can see everything from here; the city lights are beautiful.

"You're right," I breathe. "It's beautiful from here."

He doesn't say anything, and I lower myself to sit in his hand so that I feel more balanced. He doesn't once curl his fingers around me.

"You know," I say out of nowhere. "When I was a little girl, I wanted to be an astronaut. Crazy, right?"

"That makes sense," he says.

"What do you mean?"

"It's in you; there's a curiosity about you, an intelligence, a need to know more. You're always staring at the stars, dreaming away."

I blink and stare at him, and he gives me a grin comparable to a smirk. I grin back. Then, like he said, I stare up at the stars.

"I always wanted to discover aliens," I say, and then the babbling starts. I don't think I've ever been so honest with anyone. "I always thought they were out there. I just never imagined they'd look like… like you." At this he chuckles, raising his hand a little above his head, urging me closer to the stars. "I never thought it was possible, you know? That humans were the only ones out there. I mean, we're just so _small_ compared to everything else. Just a speck of dust floating in space. Don't you think it's a little egotistical of us, thinking we're alone? It's such a lonely thought."

I sigh softly, but I'm not done talking. I turn to him suddenly, a huge, ridiculous smile on my face, a wild laugh building in my chest, and I don't know why. "You're an alien," I say pointedly. "So, you know how to us, to humans, we imagine aliens as little green men? Well, did you ever imagine aliens as squishy, tiny pink people? Did you tell stories about them on your planet? Did people think you were crazy for believing in them? Did you ever think, maybe, that we were out here somewhere?"

He laughs, a low, rumbling, sound of amusement. I've still got that stupid grin on my face, my legs curled underneath me, watching him intently. I bite down on my lower lip, trying to control my smile as he laughs—a real, genuine laugh.

"Do you always babble so much?" he asks, and then I start to laugh. I'm not sure what's wrong with me, but I'm feeling a rush—something like adrenaline, and it's making me giddy. Maybe it's the fact that I'm being help up high above his head, that the only thing keeping me from plummeting over 30 feet to the ground is my trust in Optimus Prime.

"Only when I'm nervous or excited." I tell him breathlessly.

"Which are you now?"

"I'll let you know when I figure it out."

I get to my feet then, shakily, the wind whipping my hair and my clothes; it's far windier up here than it is down below. I stumble and he immediately curls his fingers up, and I grab on to one for support, my heart fluttering in my chest.

"Careful up there," he says, tilting his face up to look at me.

"That's no fun," I tell him, but I sit down again. Slowly he lowers his hand so that we're at eye level again, my skin turned blue from his eyes. I remember when Megatron's eyes had turned my skin red, and the difference is jarring.

He makes me feel out of control. He's looking at the sky, and I rap my fingernails against his metal palm.

"Why do you stay with me every night?" I ask suddenly, softly. He looks at me, his eyes gentle.

"I knew you were nervous around me," he says, "and I never felt… _right_ about it. I was never sure why you seemed to hate me, mind you, but I felt the need to fix it. I've also grown to enjoy your company."

"Oh," I murmur. I want to apologize, but I don't. Instead, I change the subject, looking out toward his planet.

"Do you ever get lonely, Optimus Prime?"

It takes a moment for him to answer, and his voice is heavy when he does. "It was difficult, at first," he confesses, "and while I have the Autobots, I do miss my planet and everything I had there. I miss it when it was peaceful." And then he shrugs. "So, yes, it does get lonely."

"I'm sorry," I tell him, thumping my fist against his hand. I change the subject again. "What's your favorite thing about Earth?"

"The people," he replies earnestly.

"Why?" I'm shocked. "We suck."

He chuckles again. "Your race is young," he says, "and you still have much to learn. But you have so much hope, so much faith. You are much like us."

I just shrug, and we're silent for a while. I shift my weight in his palm, feeling the familiar urge to ask questions I shouldn't ask. I look at his face, calm, serene, gentle. I can't find the killer I've been looking for.

"Optimus," I say, so softly I think I might need to repeat myself. But when he looks at me, I find myself asking him the question that's been tormenting me for days. "Have you ever done something so bad, you don't think you'll ever be able to make up for it?"

His voice is heavy, carrying the weight of the world when he answers. He heaves a sigh. "Yes," he says in a pained voice.

"Tell me," I urge.

He hesitates. "I don't often discuss this," he warns, and I shrug.

"I'm not too good with feelings, either," I say with a soft smile. "So don't worry."

Another sigh. "It was two years ago," he says, and my blood turns to ice. My mind goes blank, buzzing. "There was an accident, and I am to blame. I was driving, and I collided with a car—a car with a young family inside. I don't know how it happened. They were badly injured, and Ratchet came quickly to try to help, but—"

He actually has to stop himself. Optimus Prime has to _stop himself_, just for a moment, to control his emotions. I'm not feeling anything. I just stare up at him, my eyes huge.

"We got them inside Ratchet—I remember the young girl was badly wounded." His voice takes on a tone of disgust, of self-loathing. "I can't remember their faces," he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable. "Every day I tried to think about them, but I've forgotten their faces. I—I destroyed a family that day."

He's shaking, just slightly, but I can feel it. This isn't at all what I was expecting. I have to stop this. I can't let him finish the rest of the story, not when I know how it ends.

"Stop," I whisper. "Please stop—you don't have to go on. Just—don't." He looks at me. "I'm sorry," I say. "I shouldn't have asked. I'm so sorry."

I don't know how I manage to keep the tears back, but I do. I just know I can't listen to him tell the story about how the girl was kidnapped, about how the boy and his mother died. I've heard it before, from Megatron:

"_By the time we went back for them, they were already dead. Ratchet had finished them._"

And all of a sudden, I can't believe it. I realize, right then, that there's been a misunderstanding. The pain on Prime's face… there's no faking that sort of pain. It's all so clear—Megatron must have _thought_ Ratchet a specialist in torture, must not have realized he was a doctor, that he was trying to save them. Savannah—he had died because Ratchet couldn't save him, not because Ratchet had _killed_ him.

It was an accident.

Prime seems to realize I'm having some sort of mental meltdown, because he nudges me with a finger.

"Carmen," he says gently, "are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I whisper. "I—I'm perfect. Are _you_ okay?"

"I am fine," he replies, and then we're staring at each other. I rarely look into his eyes like this, directly, but now I can't look away.

_It was an accident_.

I need to speak to Megatron, I need to explain that the bots aren't who he thinks they are. Maybe there really is no such thing as Autobots and Decepticons. Maybe they're all the same, with just a difference in point of view, a small twist.

Maybe, if I can convince him, we can call this whole thing off.

I need to get back to my room. I must talk to Megatron—_now_.

**So, that's that! What do you think? How do you feel about Parker's breakthrough? Favorite part?**

**Love you guys, thanks for reading!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Note: Here's another chapter for you! I start class tomorrow, so I've been trying to update as quickly as possible to make up for it, because I might be slow. Enjoy!**

**Oh, the song **_**Young Blood**_** by ****The Naked and Famous**** really helped me write this chapter. Check it out!**

**As always, there's a little goofiness with the twins. Because that's what they do, right? Also, some things are going to start coming together very soon ;)**

Chapter 8

"Come on, I know you can hear me… wake up, wake up, wake _up!_"

I'm alone in my room, and I've been trying for the last ten minutes to wake Megatron up. He's either in deep sleep, dead, or ignoring me.

"_Come on!"_ My voice is a snarl. He should be up; the sun started to rise about twenty minutes ago. Finally, the studs in my ear crackle to life and I hear his harsh voice.

"_What is it this time?"_

"I've discovered something," I gasp, breathless. "_Megs_, I—"

"_Do not call me that."_

I stutter for a moment, caught off guard. He is definitely in a bad mood today, but I have to admit that his harshness stings a little.

"Okay, sorry. But, anyway, Megatron, I figured something out." There is a silence.

"_Well?"_ he finally asks, and I swallow, suddenly very nervous.

"I talked to Optimus today," I breathe, "and—"

"_Optimus?_" he echoes, "_I didn't realize you two were so close."_

"Prime," I correct myself with a heavy sigh. "I talked to _Prime_ today, and the accident came up. _The_ accident. And that was exactly it—it was an _accident_. This has all been a huge misunderstanding. Prime didn't have Ratchet kill them—Ratchet isn't a torture specialist, he's a _doctor_. He tried to save them, but it was too late. It wasn't their fault!"

"_Prime caused the accident, did he not?_"

"Well… um, yeah, but—"

"_Then it was his fault._"

"No," I snap sharply, surprised at my voice. "It's not like that. He's in _pain_ because of it, he's guilty. You should see it; they're nothing like you say. They didn't mean it—"

"_Whether or not it was an accident does not matter,"_ Megatron hisses, "_it will not bring your brother back. And mind your tone with me, girl."_

"But they're not _evil!_" I rasp, my voice low and harsh. I will _not_ watch my tone, not when he treats me like this. "They're not. I haven't seen anything to suggest that they're cruel—they're protecting Earth."

"_From what, pray tell?"_ His tone is sarcastic, mocking.

"From… you. Or they think so. But they don't realize that you're not trying to hurt us—"

He starts laughing then, cutting me off. I don't understand.

"_Parker Rook," _he croons, _"you are so young, so naïve—"_

"I am not!" I snarl. "I'm telling you what I've witnessed—"

"_They really have gotten to you, haven't they? I should have seen this coming."_

"_No_, they _haven't_," I insist. "Really. We've just—misunderstood. Different points of view. But Optimus—Prime—he—"

A roar cuts me off, so loud in my ear that my hand shoots up to cover it. I make a soft squeaking sound; I've never been fond of loud noises.

"_What you need to remember_," he says furiously, "_is that I told you that they would do this. They would try to get you to see them this way, and you've fallen for it. I didn't realize you weren't strong enough to handle this._"

"I _am_ strong enough. It just… this feels wrong. Just _listen_ to me—"

"_You are falling for their lies,"_ he roars. "_Your family is __**dead**__ because of them, and you're going soft. They are the enemy. There is no misunderstanding. Do I need to monitor you more closely?"_

"No," I say, my voice soft and pathetic. I feel deflated. "I just…" I don't know how to finish.

"_It's all mind games, Parker,"_ he tells me. "_They destroyed your family and they destroyed my planet. You __**will**__ continue to serve me as a spy, or I will remove you from the situation. Am I understood?"_

He's never talked to me like this before, with this much anger. When I don't respond, he raises his voice. _**"Am I understood?"**_

"Yes," I murmur.

"_Keep your head clear,"_ he says.

"But if you would just _listen_, I think you'd see—I'm not saying you're wrong in this, but maybe we're all just confused—"

"_**Enough!"**_

I flinch again, rubbing my ear.

"_Can you or can you not complete your mission?"_

I swallow, determined. I wonder if I'm being stupid, like he says. Maybe he's right. I've known him for two years, and these bots… only a few weeks. When I really think about it, I know I should trust Megatron more than them, but…

"I can," I murmur.

"_Good,"_ he says. _"I need you to keep your head clear. Be less stupid from now on, and see through their lies. There is a much larger plan in the works, and you cannot afford to screw it up. Do not let me hear this sort of talk again."_

"You won't," I promise.

"_Good,"_ he says, and with a crackle, he is gone.

I sit down on my bed, head in my hands, berating myself. I don't think I have ever, _ever_ felt this stupid. I thought I was stronger than this. I don't know who to believe anymore—on the one hand, Megatron saved my life; apparently from Optimus Prime, but, if I believe Optimus, then Megatron only _thought_ he was saving me. Not that that makes what he did any less heroic. But on the other hand, after spending time with the bots, I can't make myself believe that they're cruel. I've never seen anything to suggest it. They're kinder than Barricade and Starscream and, lately, Megs himself.

With an irritated sigh, I throw myself back down on my bed, folding one arm over my eyes. One thing's for sure; I won't be getting any sleep. So I get up and pass the time drawing, somehow feeling better about my lie. Things are easier to deal with when I'm angry.

Finally I can't stand being cooped up anymore. I get up and pace my room before grabbing some clothes and heading off to the women's showers. I'm alone, thankfully, and wash the sweat and grime off my body. When I'm finished, I head back to my room and draw some more, then pace some more. Finally I can't take it and I leave, deciding to wander the base, to clear my mind. I stay away from the hangar and the bots, knowing that seeing them would only make things worse. A few soldiers give me odd looks, but I ignore them, deciding to search out Lennox and see if he has anything he needs me to do.

Eventually a soldier helps me out and gets me headed in the right direction and before long I find Lennox. He's in conversation with someone else, though, so I hang back, catching snippets of his words:

"The new kids are coming in in a few days…" he says, and I'm assuming he means new recruits. "…yeah he's one of them… determined to be a part of NEST… I know he's young, but they say… a few of them… we'll have to get them familiar with the bots…"

I don't really know enough about to context to understand, so I try not to listen too much. Finally they're done speaking, and when Lennox turns and sees me looks surprised.

"Carmen!" he says, "What are you doing up?"

"Can't sleep," I tell him. "Do you have anything I need to do?"

He just shakes his head and I sigh. "I'm so _bored_. I can't stop thinking; I'm going out of my mind," I moan. He considers for a moment.

"Some soldiers are training with the boys," he says after some consideration. He shrugs. "They're in the hangar. I'm sure they wouldn't mind if you watched."

Of course. The last thing I want is to be around them, to have to see their faces. I'm too stressed as it is. I feel like something huge is coming, that something is not _right_, that something's about to blow. And I feel like I'll end up as the catalyst, and I can't stand it.

"Okay," is all I say. "Thanks Lennox."

_There is a much larger plan in the works, and you cannot afford to screw it up._

As I head back to my room, ignoring everyone around me, I can't help but wonder what he meant. What is the plan? Is he still bent on destroying Optimus? Probably. He seemed determined not to listen to me, and I still don't know if Optimus is manipulating me or not.

_There is a much larger plan in the works, and you cannot afford to screw it up._

I'm so scared. What if I'm wrong? I can't tell Lennox about this. I would never betray Megatron in such a way, but in withholding the information, I'm betraying Lennox… and Sideswipe and Ironhide, and Ratchet, who tried to save my brother (if he really is a doctor. I just don't _know_). And the twins. Mudflap and Skids. They told me they loved me. They said we were family. You don't betray your family.

Either way, I'm screwed. I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place. I don't know who to believe anymore. What if I'm being manipulated? What if I'm not? I'm going to make a mistake here, I can feel it, and it might be catastrophic.

I'm sick to my stomach when I realize that the one I really want to see is not one of the twins, or Megatron, or Barricade or Starscream or Lennox—the one I want to see is Optimus Prime. I'd felt so sure last night, 100% positive that this was a misunderstanding. But now that I'm away from him, I'm not sure. I just want to feel the way I felt with him again; wild, breathless, on the edge. Honest.

I return to my room and sketch frantically, but it isn't helping. I draw a million things, most of them representing my thoughts—two gigantic, twin, twenty-something twin human boys, holding hands with an average-height girl. Those same twins carrying the girl upside down by one leg, or holding her stretched playfully between them. I spend a lot of time getting them just right; buck teeth for one, big ears for both, freckles, a beanie on one, curly hair… finally, I've got the twins right: two human-looking boys, twice the height of their tiny human friend.

I flip a page and start over, and this time the man is huge, much larger than the twins. In the palm of one hand, the same curly-haired girl is sitting, legs folded beneath her, pointing up at the sky.

Before I know it, I'm turning our nights into small comic strips, somewhat cartoon-looking, but somewhat realistic. I strain to get my human representations of them just right: Mudflap and Skids, goofy white young men with beanies and freckles and baggy-ish pants; Ironhide, a huge, intimidating, barrel-chested man with short hair and bulging arm muscles; Bumblebee, a lanky man in his twenties with a hoodie and a dimpled grin, his hair flipping out from under his hood; Sideswile, long legged, graceful, sleek in a black leather jacket and shades with a crooked smirk; Ratchet, in a white doctor's coat, delicate square glasses, stubble and messy black hair; finally Optimus, the tallest of them all, with a kind, serious face, a subtle smile, simply dressed.

I've got them all in a lineup for reference, a million sketches on a million different pages. It's just the distraction I'm looking for. Once I've perfected them, I work on perfecting Lennox and myself as cartoons; Lennox with his tall frame and broad shoulders, tired eyes and an easy smile. Myself, with my short curly hair, using the number 8 as a base for my body. I have the hardest time with myself; I always have.

I even throw in Starscream, Megatron, and Barricade for kicks, but I don't label them. I'm too paranoid for that.

The sides of my hands are stained grey from the pencils, and when I look up at the clock I'm surprised to see that _hours_ have passed. But that's good. I flip through my work again, ignoring the empty rumble in my stomach and the urge to pee. I feel manic, out of control. I can't stand it.

_There is a much larger plan in the works, and you cannot afford to screw it up._

Finally I jump to my feet and toss my sketchpad across the room, scattering the pencils.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid_. What's wrong with me? What am I _missing?_ What am I not seeing? I start pacing again, leaving my sketchbook where it is. Finally I leave the tiny room and grab a sandwich from the cafeteria, chewing it moodily on the way back. When I get back to my room it feels like a prison.

I pick up my sketchbook again, sandwich in one hand, and sprawl out on my bed. I still have a few hours to kill, and I know sleep is still out of the question. The energy inside of me hasn't died down, so I nibble at the sandwich and continue to sketch. The more I sketch, the more brave I become; I draw my brother. I draw myself and Megatron. I write out the words _There is a much larger plan in the works, and you cannot afford to screw it up,_ and then scratch them out and rip them up.

When it's time for me to go out, I hesitate. I still don't want to face the Bots, but I can't stay in here. I'll destroy something. Fight or flight, fight or flight, and I'm choosing flight again. I wish Savannah was here.

Finally I tuck my sketchbook under my arm and head out. Things start off as normal; the twins bicker and draw me into it, and end up fighting. Bumblebee has to separate them. I wash Ratchet and Sideswipe; they're dirtiest. I mop up the hangar and put things away. I clean every surface I can, and I'm avoiding speaking to anyone. But it can't be avoided.

Working seems to have helped release the energy, at least. The twins are wrestling outside, and I spot Sideswipe watching them with a strange expression on his face. I ignore it at first, but there's something… _forlorn_ about him, and I can't ignore it.

"Yo," I say, punching his leg gently. He looks down at me. "You alright, big guy?"

"I am," he says. "I was just thinking."

"About the twins?" I suggest, grinning sweetly at him. He laughs a rumbling laugh, placing his large hand on top of my head.

"They remind me of myself and by brother, that's all," he says casually.

"You have a brother?"

"A twin," he confirms, and there's something sad in his voice.

"What happened to him?"

Sideswipe shrugs. "We were separated a long time ago," he says, still staring out at Mudflap and Skids. "I don't know if he is even alive."

"What's his name?"

"Sunstreaker." He says it with so much love that it breaks my heart. I place my hand on his leg again. He misses him, I can tell, and all at once I feel much closer to him. We are both missing our other halves.

"I'm so sorry, Sideswipe," I murmur.

"I'm sure he's fine," he says, his voice confident, and I smile.

"Were you two as annoying as them?" I ask, nodding in the direction of Mudflap and Skids. Sideswipe laughs.

"Worse, I'm afraid."

I gasp dramatically and he laughs again, then sighs heavily. "I miss him, though," he says, and his voice is empty. Then he squares his shoulders. "You are to pretend that we didn't have this conversation, got it?"

"Have what conversation?"

"Exactly."

He winks at me before skating elegantly away, shoving into Ironhide as he does. Ironhide swears at him. The twins are still yelling at each other outside, but they seem to have calmed. After I clean up my mess, I head out into the night, where Bumblebee, Mudflap, and Skids are.

"Roadkill!" Mudflap calls, lunging toward me. He gathers me up in his arms and pulls me against him in the best hug he can manage. I grunt and kick him a couple of times, and he releases me.

I hit the ground on my feet and grin at the twins, dropping my things on the ground.

"What got you all wound up, Roadkill?" I just stare at Skids. He's looking at me carefully. "You tense."

"I dunno," I lie carefully. "I'm just bored, I guess. Restless."

"Bored?" Skids cries, "What'choo bored fo'? C'mon, Roadkill, we can fix dat."

I grin at him. Out of the corner of my eye I see Mudflap speed away, heading for God knows what. "I'm counting on it."

"You ain't gon' be disappointed," he promises, his eyes focused on a point over my shoulder. I spin around just in time; a strong jet of water hits me straight in the chest, knocking me back and soaking me through. The twins laugh hysterically, and it only takes me a moment to realize what happened; Mudflap had taken the hose I usually use to wash them and turned it against me.

And all the tension melts away and I'm laughing again. I laugh harder when Bumblebee, looking alarmed, takes water straight to the face. Irritated, he marches over to Mudflap, holds him by the head, snatches the hose, and turns it on him, pinning him to the ground with one foot and nearly drowning him in water.

"Yo, yo, enough!" Mudglap gurgles from the ground. Tears are running down my face.

"Serves you right!" I laugh, then hold my hand out for the hose. "Thanks, Bumblebee," I say, and he hands me the hose. I can't get over how powerful it is. Within a moment Skids is backing away, hands held up.

"Whoa, I don' want no part o' dis—"

I blast him in the face and Bumblebee starts laughing; I turn the hose on him. He looks shocked, and for a moment I'm afraid I've upset him. Then he lunges for the hose and a shriek, a raspy, hoarse sound. I drop it and it flies around like something possessed, managing to smack Mudflap in the head before Bumblebee gets a hold of it. He stares hard at me.

"No," I say. "Don't even think about—"

And then I'm drowning in water, knocked back on my butt, and Bumblebee is roaring with laugher. I scramble to my feet and run back toward the hanger, grabbing my soapy sponge in bucket. Optimus, Sideswipe, Ratchet, and Ironhide are all watching us, in car form.

When I'm close enough I hurl the sponge at Bumblebee, who is still in control of the hose. The sponge hits his chest and slides down. Skids snatches it and throws it at me; it hits my face with a wet _splat_ and sticks for a moment. He's laughing.

And then it turns into chaos. Somehow we've been divided into teams; me and Bumblebee versus Mudflap and Skids, and I don't think I've ever had so much fun. Bumblebee wields the hose like it's a weapon, and occasionally the twins steal it back and turn it on us. It's amusing to see them using actual battle strategies on each other in a silly game.

It doesn't take long before my clothes are soaked and hanging off my body. My hair is plastered to my face, my skin slick. We've come to a stalemate, the ground covered in puddles. Bumblebee is holding the hose triumphantly, and we bump knuckles.

"Nice," I say.

"**You—fought valiantly."**

"You too," I laugh. The water is falling like rain now and I tilt my head back, tongue out, catching droplets, turning in circles, watching the water fall. I kick puddle water at the twins, who kick back at me, effectively covering me in dirty water. Bumblebee shoves them.

Lights flash from the hangar, and as I look back I see Ironhide walking toward us. An idea strikes me.

"Bumblebee," I begin urgently, but Ironhide cuts me off.

"Do it and you'll all be dead," he says seriously. I frown. When he reaches us, he gives us a grumpy look. "Come on, _children_," he says dryly. "The adults want to sleep now. Come inside."

He gives Bumblebee a withering look, and the yellow robot's shoulders and "wings" droop, making a sad sound.

I sigh. "Loosen up, Ironhide," I say. "He was just having fun. You should try it sometime."

"I am a warrior. I have no time for silly games," he scoffs. He rolls his eyes at me and takes the hose from Bumblebee, "accidentally" hitting us all with it.

"Oops," he chuckles, and as he's putting it away he _somehow_ manages to squirt Sideswipe, Ratchet, and Optimus. "My bad," he says, and I laugh. So much for silly games. I say good night to the Twins and Bumblebee, giving him a small high five, and sit on the wet ground, waiting. Sure enough, I hear the familiar rumble of Optimus Prime rolling closer. He transforms beside me and, when I lay out on my back on the wet ground, he surprises me by doing the same. He looks uncomfortable and slightly confused, but he does it. I bite my lip to keep from smiling.

"Hey," I say accusingly, and I've got that wild, nervous feeling again. "You didn't ask if I minded."

He turns his head toward me, turning me blue again. "Do you?"

I grin. "No."

"_Whether or not it was an accident does not matter. It will not bring your brother back."_

I chill creeps up my spine and I turn away quickly, staring straight up at the stars.

"You sure the _warriors_ in there are okay with you being out here?"

He rumbles a deep laugh. "Ironhide is a cantankerous old fool," he says fondly, "and he is my oldest friend. He is war-hardened, yes, but not as stuffy as you'd think."

"And what about you?"

"What about me?"

I stand suddenly, walking around to his head so that, rather than getting an eyeful of the sky, he gets an eyeful of my wet face and drippy hair. "You know how to have fun?"

He actually splutters, which makes me laugh some more. "Of course I can have—fun." And he stumbles over the word.

"When was the last time you did something spontaneous?"

"I am their leader," he says firmly. "We cannot afford spontaneity."

"Stuffy old fool," I tease, walking around to his chest. I lean on it, pressing my hands against the custom-painted metal. I push him, hard, but I'd be surprised if he even felt it.

"What are you doing?"

"Helping you get up, old man."

"As if you could do _anything_ to budge me," he says good-naturedly.

"Hey," I say, kicking a puddle at him, waiting nervously for his reaction. He looks startled for a moment, as though he can't understand _why_ I would kick filthy water at him. And then, still on his back, he uses a gigantic hand to splash me back—much more effectively.

I spit the nasty water out of my mouth and give a startled gasp. "Hey!" I cry.

"Serves you right," he smirks. I shake my hair out, splattering him with droplets, then shove him again.

"Get _up_."

"Why?"

I grunt as I continue to push him, then finally give up and fold my arms.

"Come on," I say, "can't you do something unscheduled just _once_?"

"I cannot," he says, his voice full of responsibility.

"I promise not to tell the adults," I tease. "Don't be a crabby old man."

I can tell that, somewhere inside, he _wants_ to. And I'm not really sure why _I_ want to, but I do. I don't even know what I want to do; I just know that I want to do it. I want to run. I want to break the rules. This is what happens when Parker gets restless—not Carmen. Parker.

He lifts himself into a sitting position and I cheer. He groans loudly, one hand on his back as he stands, imitating an old man.

"Drama queen," I mutter.

"What's gotten into you tonight?" He doesn't say it in a bad way.

Parker's gotten into me tonight. The old Parker. The Parker who, when given the choice between _jump_ or _stay put_ while on a ledge, would always choose _jump_. Always.

Tonight I'm jumping.

"I don't know," I tell him in response to his question. Then, honestly: "I just want to go. Don't you ever want to just go?"

He doesn't respond. Instead he transforms into the Peterbilt and, without a word, opens the driver side door for me. I want to do a happy dance, but instead I dart for my sketchpad and pencils, then climb inside the truck.

"I'm going to get the seat wet and filthy," I warn.

"Spontaneity, remember?" He asks through the radio. "Besides. You'll clean it for me tomorrow."

"Ha-ha."

And then he starts to drive, windows down, quickly drying my hair into a wild mass.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

* * *

><p>It's beautiful up here. We're parked on an outcropping somewhere not too far from base. It overlooks the city below, providing a beautiful view of both the stars and the city lights. It's the sort of place young couples come to make out and be romantic, though I doubt he knows this. I think he brought me here because of my astronaut confession, and the stars are so close that I can almost touch them.<p>

I'm sitting on the hood of the Peterbilt, sketchpad propped up on my knees as I doodle vaguely. We've been making conversation on and off, talking about nothing and everything at the same time. I'm sure he's let Ironhide and the others know he took off, because, in all honesty, he really _can't_ run away like this. He probably _shouldn't_ have done this.

I rub my hand over the hood.

"Why did you bring me here?"

"You looked like you needed it," he replies. "Besides; I rarely turn down a challenge."

I laugh. "Thanks," I murmur, the darkness urging me to be quiet. "I really did need this."

Megatron's words spin in my mind, throbbing like angry bees. The tip of my pencil snaps.

"_You think they like you?"_

I swallow thickly, closing my sketchpad and rolling over on my side, curling up on the warm hood. I'm not sure when I became so comfortable with him, when exactly we both realized that things had changed—somewhere between last night and tonight. Megatron had shaken my faith, but as I'm lying here with him—on _top_ of him—I know there's no way that he intentionally allowed my family to be harmed. He is too gentle for that. But Megatron's poisonous words seep through; _It won't bring your brother back._

I push the thought away. No, it won't bring him back. But I didn't die that day. My brother did. And, as hard as it is, I need to live, too. And I've never been more sure of myself than I am right now, on his hood, knowing that this was all a misunderstanding.

They just need to see it.

I've also never felt so guilty, because I know I'm betraying Optimus. I try half-heartedly to tell myself he deserves it, but I don't believe it for a second. A wild part of me, the part that brought me out here, the part that went against Megatron wants to confess. But I know I can't.

"Carmen," Optimus murmurs after a while, and hearing that name, that lie, _Carmen_, shatters the warm, soothing lull I've been feeling. "Are you awake?"

_I'm not Carmen!_ I want to scream. Because I know, now, that he accepts me. But he doesn't accept _me_. Would he still be kind if he knew the truth? I doubt it. Megatron is right.

They can never know. The best thing for me to do is continue with the mission, to keep them all at an emotional distance.

"I'm awake," I murmur, my cheek against the hood.

"Sunrise is approaching," he says. "We should be getting back."

"Right," I say. "You're right."

The door opens as I slide off the hood with my things and climb inside. I'm exhausted from the lack of sleep, and as he drives I stroke the seat.

"Thank you," I mumble, "for tonight."

"Of course," he replies, his voice low and gentle.

It's then that I do something I have never, ever done before—not with Megatron, or Starscream, or barricade: I fall asleep inside of him.

**OH MY GOD I am exhausted. Writing the end of that… I was so so tired, so I'm sorry if it sucked! But I wanted to get it done for you guys!**

**Just so you know, from this chapter on, some things will be revealed. It's gonna get good! YAY for plot twists! Also: Is their relationship moving too slow, too fast, or just right? And, as always: Favorite part?**

**There shall be more fluff in the next chapter, yay! And just so you know, the reason there's so much fluff and fun lately is because, for Parker, she's really starting to see the difference between the Autobots and Decepticons.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Note: The little cute part with Optimus in the beginning was inspired by Bumblebee's reaction to Carly in the 3****rd**** movie. I loved it.**

**Okay, so we got some action in this chapter (finally! REAL action, not fake action like in the beginning) and also some sadness. Enjoy! You get to see that Parker is growing more angry and rebellious—and the consequences for those actions. I love how she's developing!**

**Sorry for the wait! I cut this chapter short, though, so it wouldn't be too much of a wait. The second part is in the works! I really hope you like this chapter! **

**Also, I make a point to respond to EVERY review when I can, so keep them coming!**

Chapter 9

What I did that night, falling asleep inside of him, gives a whole new meaning to the phrase _"sleeping with the enemy."_ I'm just glad that Megatron hasn't found out yet. He would definitely not be happy; I'm not too happy with myself as it is.

What is it about these bots—Optimus Prime in particular—that causes my resolve to crumble? I'd sworn to myself that day that I would listen to Megatron, that I wouldn't fall for their tricks. And that same night I had let myself be at my most vulnerable—_inside the enemy ._I couldn't believe myself. But at the same time, I'm glad I did, I'm glad I slept with—in—him.

Something about _that night_—maybe the way I had teased him gently and he hadn't gotten mad, or maybe it was the fact that he had let me curl up on his hood and watch the sky, or that he had allowed me to sleep inside his cab without killing me—had shifted something. If he had wanted to kill me or hurt me, he'd had every opportunity; thanks to my own stupidity, of course.

_I_ had gone out with him, completely alone, unguarded.

_I_ had fallen asleep in him, giving him the perfect opportunity to end me.

And he hadn't.

I knew, now, that he wasn't out to hurt me—or anyone, really. He wasn't anything like what Megatron had said. He was kind, gentle, understanding.

Sitting on my bed, slipping on my shoes, I can't shake that night from my mind, the night things had truly changed. In the back of my mind I _know_ I should still be suspicious. And whenever I'm away from him I _am. _But when I am near him, the suspicion just feels like stupidity, like ignorance, and I hate myself for it.

I remember way the stars and the city lights had bled together, almost indistinguishable from each other; I want to draw it, but I know I'll never be able to capture that beauty. I tried anyway, a million times. I'd even tried earlier today, and even though another week has passed, it's still just as clear in my mind as it had been that night.

I shake my head, my curls bouncing animatedly, trying to clear the vision out of my mind. I have other things to focus on now. It's just before sunset, and the twins, jealous once they had discovered that Optimus and I had gone out alone, are determined to show me what a _real_ good time is all about, though I doubt they know the details of our trip. So after a lot of begging and deal-making, they convinced Optimus and Lennox to let us out for the second time since my being here.

I look nice tonight at least. I'm not sure why I felt the need to dress up. I guess, as much as I've changed since living with Megatron, even though I can shoot a gun and take care of myself in a fight and blow things up given the right supplies, I still like to get dressed up and do girly things. And it's _very_ hard being one of the only women on base. Not that I'm one to talk about my feelings; the tension, the confusion, or anything, especially considering I've got Megs in my ear, but I do miss having girlfriends.

I glance at myself in a mirror, glad that when I'd gone shopping the first time my girly side had kicked in and _insisted_ I buy what I'm wearing now; a pair of dark grey-black jeans that fit my curves like a glove and a soft red blouse that hugs my waist and flows at my hips. My hair is too short to really so anything with, so I make sure the curls are nice and pin them behind one ear with a clip—the ear that is free of Megatron's studs. No jewelry; I have none, aside from my earrings. Overall I look nice; _pretty_, but not overdone.

It's a couple of hours before I'm normally due to visit the bots, but I figure they won't mind. I have nothing else to do, and honestly I feel that I've grown closer to them since sleeping within Optimus. When I'm sure I'm ready I head down to the hangar, managing to get up the stairs and onto the raised platform before any of them notice me, they're all busy running drills with soldiers, basically going over battle strategies and the best way to kill a bot.

I lean slightly over the railing, just watching; I'm completely fascinated by them. It's nothing like the training I went through with Barricade or Starscream, as none of these soldiers are harmed or brutalized. Bumblebee is surrounded by a group of soldiers, weapons raised; Ironhide has his weapon aimed at a group, instructing them on how to best avoid a blast. Lennox is on the ground in front of Optimus, who has a soldier on his shoulder and a couple at his feet; Sideswipe is in car form, showing another group one thing or another. Off in a corner, Mudflap and Skids are being used as examples of cooperative strategy, white Ratchet is telling a few about the weakest spots on a bot's armor.

It's hypnotizing, almost, watching them all, and still none of them know I'm here. Watching Optimus reach for the soldier on his shoulder, and watching the soldier dodge manically makes me laugh.

Optimus jerks at the sound, surprised, and when his eyes focus on me he looks even _more_ alarmed, resulting in him actually taking a step back. The soldiers beneath him scatter and the one on his back clings on of dear life. Trying not to crush anyone on the ground, Optimus reaches out to stabilize himself, hitting Ironhide before backing into the wall and causing a shudder to rock the ground and metal to screech loudly; sparks fly. As he attempts to regain his composure, as though he didn't just cause a small earthquake, he knocks over a table of weapons.

At the disturbance everyone freezes and looks up at him, confused. He brings a large hand to his forehead and rubs it, shaking his head.

It's probably one of the most comical things I've ever seen in my life.

"What the f—" Lennox starts, then spots me on the platform; my eyes are watering from trying to hold in my laughter. He glances back at Optimus, who clears his throat.

"Oops," he says, and then Ironhide starts laughing; a loud, deep laugh, which is shocking since I've never heard him utter more than an amused chuckle. He doubles over, hands on his knees for a moment, laughing hard.

"Smooth," he laughs. Optimus gives him a hard, annoyed look and he immediately straightens up and clears his throat, awkwardly scratching his helmet. "Uh—I mean—you okay?"

"Fine," Optimus grumbles; there's a general murmur of soft laughter, and even Lennox looks amused.

"Everything good up there, big man?" he asks and Optimus nods. "What're you doing here?" Lennox asks after ordering the soldiers back to training.

"Sorry," I call down. I can hear the twins squawking with laughter in the background.

"Focus, you two," Optimus says, and they immediately quiet themselves.

"Should I go?" I ask.

"Nah," Lennox says. "We're just finishing up."

"That would probably be best," Optimus says at the same time.

I glance between them as they glance at each other. Lennox looks confused; Optimus still looks slightly flustered. I just shrug and head down the stairs again.

"Carmen," they both say at the same time, then glance at each other again. Optimus nods at Lennox, who continues. Lennox's voice is kind when he says, "You can stay, if you want."

"It's okay; I can take a hint," I grin, though I am still a little confused and maybe just the _tiniest_ bit hurt Optimus wants me to go. "I can tell when I'm not wanted. I'll be in the cafeteria if you need me."

I hear Optimus sigh as I leave, the doors falling shut behind me. I head to the cafeteria like I said and grab a bite to eat, just to kill time. By the time training is over and someone comes to let me know I'm practically sprawled out on the cafeteria table with boredom. I nearly run back to the hangar, and as soon as I enter I have a huge smile on my face.

What can I say? The twins always make me smile, and I'm _excited_ to see what they have in store for me.

They're excited too; that much is clear when I walk in. I pass Optimus, who is in his semi form again, and I rap him once on the grill with my knuckles as I reach the twins.

Skids whistles at me, a sharp wolf whistle. "Wow," says Mudflap. "You lookin'—"

"Hot?" I cut him off, tossing my short hair. "Yeah, I know. You lot forgot I was a girl, didn't you?" I grin as I shimmy playfully, giving him a mock-suggestive look.

"You's a lil dressed up fo' cow tippin' don'chu think?"

I freeze. "_Cow tipping?"_ I'm half excited, half nervous. I've secretly always wanted to try it. Skids bursts into laughter.

"Gotcha," he says, elbowing me in the shoulder. I stagger, rubbing it and glaring at him. "We's goin' to da movies!"

"Movies," I echo, "but how're you gonna—"

"A _drive in_," Mudflap says. "You stupid or somethin'?"

I kick him lightly in the shin, glaring. "I didn't know there were drive ins around here," I drawl, rolling my eyes. "I don't know where _here_ is."

"Shut up an' get in," Skids says, transforming and driving around me, coming to a screeching halt right at my feet, the door springing open.

"Show off," I mutter. Mudflap whoops.

"We gon' have so much fun, Roadkill," he says, transforming beside his brother.

"Whoa, hold on," Lennox says seriously, grabbing the door before I can close it. "You remember the rules, right? No speeding, no drawing attention to yourselves, and you're to be back by midnight. Exactly. Or you're never going out again."

I sigh.

"I'm serious, Carmen," he says, and he suddenly looks tired. "We still don't know why the Decepticons wanted you in the first place."

Way to darken the mood. I look away and nod. The gigantic hangar door opens again and, without giving me a chance to say goodbye, Skids burns out, literally burning rubber, and we're out of the hangar in a flash.

* * *

><p>We're watching <em>Titanic<em>. Turns out, the drive-in was one of those that, on certain nights, played certain old movies. Tonight's _Titanic_. But it's okay; we spend most of the night giggling and making fun of the movie.

Halfway through it, though, Megatron contacts me.

"_What are you doing? Where are you?"_

I can't answer in front of the twins, and to be honest I'm more than a little irritated with him. I ignore him.

"_Answer me._"

My gut squirms, but I continue to ignore him, trying to focus on the movie.

"_Are you with those idiot twins? What in the name of Cybertron has gotten into you? Have you forgotten your mission?"_

When I still don't answer he gives a furious growl.

"_So be it._"

And then, with a crackle, it's silent. My heart is pounding, but I must be good at hiding it because the twins don't notice, even though I'm sitting on Mudflap's hood with my back against the windshield. I'm tense for a while, but when nothing happens in an hour, I start to relax.

When the movie is finally over and we're done sniggering about it, I climb inside Mudflap for the ride back home—or to base, that is. Mudflap has the radio on, allowing me to adjust it, and I'm singing along to Bon Jovi's _Wanted Dead or Alive_. The windows are down, stealing away my hoarse voice. I'm caught between laughing and singing most of the time as Mudflap and Skids race each other on the freeway, getting honked at. We'd decided to ignore the rule about the speed limit, though Mudflap had wrapped the seatbelt securely around me to be safe.

I'm feeling free again, caught up in the moment. I've almost forgotten about Megatron. I could live forever in this moment, and I'm trying so hard to remember it exactly as it is.

I should have known it wouldn't last, should have known that ignoring Megatron would bring consequences.

It starts so quietly that I almost don't notice. But I catch it, faintly, ignoring it at first. But when I hear it again I turn down the radio—Mudflap is still singing loudly, so I hush him gently for a moment.

There it is—a high-pitched screech, a sound like the sky itself is being torn open. My heart stops for a moment.

"What da hell—" Mudflap starts, and the sound is right on top of us at the same instant that I realize what it is.

Starscream.

The jet flies over us and Mudflap starts swearing violently. Skids is screaming, over and over again, "'_Con, 'Con, 'Con, 'Con!"_

"Shit!" I scream. "Mudflap—get out of here!"

The jet is in front of us now and transforming. We're travelling so quickly that it's impossible to turn around in time, but Mudflap tries anyway. Thank God not many other people are around. Mudflap clips Starscream's foot as he turns, jolting us and throwing me around like a ragdoll. His tires screech as he peels off in the opposite direction.

Behind us, Starscream cackles out a grating laugh. In the rearview mirror I see his eyes lock on us. Whipping around I pound the wheel.

"_Drivedrivedrivedrive!"_ I shriek, _"Go, go, go! Faster, faster, come on, you gotta go faster!"_

"Hang on," Mudflap's voice is strained, almost desperate. "You gon' be okay."

I turn around in the seat to see out the back window; Starscream is causing destruction, kicking the few cars around out of the way, sending them spiraling.

"I got yo' back," Skids hollers, transforming behind us and turning to shoot as Mudflap weaves. Starscream returns fire and I scream as he laughs again, having clipped Skids in the shoulder.

"Run!" I scream at him, "Skids, _run!_"

Starscream transforms and jets in front of us, transforming so quickly and so closely that we collide with his leg. Mudflap transforms just enough that, on impact, he releases the seatbelt and I'm thrown from the vehicle to safety. It was a risky move, but had he not done it, I'd be dead anyway.

I'm screaming, arms pin wheeling as I fly through the air for a moment before I land on the freeway pavement. I hit the ground and roll with the momentum as I've been taught to do by the ones who've sent the attack now. I lose some skin on my arms, but it's better than being dead.

A car almost hits me and turns at the last second, tires squealing and smoking. The tail end smacks against my hip as I get up, sending me flying, and another car hits that one, sending it into the center divider and shoving me into it as well, though, thankfully, I'm not pinned.

The people inside the cars are screaming, abandoning their trashed vehicles and making a run for it. I can smell the acrid tang of smoke in the air and wonder where it's coming from. I turn back to Starscream and the twins, who are battling it out viciously.

_No,_ I want to scream. _No! _I'd promised myself the twins wouldn't be hurt in this. This can't be happening.

I run toward them; the cars Starscream has demolished are smoking away in the distance. Horns are honking, people are scattering, and, again, all I can do is be glad the freeway isn't busier.

Starscream shoves Skids to the ground, pinning the smaller bot, my _friend_. He makes a motion with one of his legs and Skids gives a cry of pain. Metal screeches. Mudflap punches him in the face; Starscream kicks him in retaliation, sending him skidding across the pavement.

"Stop!" I scream as I get closer, my words meant for Starscream. "_Stop it!"_

He looks up, an disgusting grin on his face. Mudflap is getting to his feet and Skids, still pinned, looks at me desperately.

"Get outta here!"

"No," I snarl, my voice tearing already. I pick up a piece of _something_ from the ground and throw it at Starscream. He leans over Skids like an animal, his talon-like fingers raking across the blacktop. I don't understand why he's doing this. This will ruin the plan, this will ruin _everything_.

"Stop it!" I shriek at Starscream. "_I'm right here! Leave them alone!_"

I'm still running, and Starscream laughs and snatches me up, transforming just enough to take flight as Mudflap tries to tackle him; Mudflap misses.

Starscream tosses me on the ground a ways away, off the freeway and in the dirt, and this time I land on my back, unable to roll. The wind has been knocked out of me. Behind him, a distance away, Skids is still down and Mudflap is coming this way. I roll over and struggle to my feet as he snatches me up, holding me to his face.

"Little Rook," he croons with a maniacal, horrible giggle. "Not so tough now, are we?"

The robot equivalent of spit splatters on my face. My arms are pinned to my sides, so I can't wipe it away. I kick my legs wildly.

"This, perhaps," he hisses in that voice, always a rasp, "will teach you not to disobey Lord Megatron."

"You don't have to hurt them," I beg. "I messed up. Not them. Leave them alone."

He transforms again just as Mudflap reaches us, but as he is bound to the ground, we get away. Starscream is just laughing.

"I am going to have my fun," he says.

"You'll ruin everything," I choke as he lands, tightening his grip on me.

"I'm keeping them interested," he says in his hitching pattern, "I am playing my role." And then he drops me, transforms, and goes back to the twins to wreak havoc, laughing all the way.

That's _it._ I've had it. This is the final straw. I get to my feet again and make a run for the freeway, where they're fighting. I don't do it because I'm brave; I'm not, not at all. I'm terrified, in fact. I do it because some tiny, stupid part of me is still convinced that he _can't_ hurt me, that I am untouchable still, that Megatron is protecting me.

I feel like I'm too late when I reach them. I nearly slip in a slick of oil, only catching myself with one hand, which is quickly coated in black. When Starscream sees me he sweeps an arm toward me, which I grab on to and hold on to for dear life.

"Get _off_, you parasite." He shakes his arm around wildly and I nearly lose my grip, but I don't. He draws me higher and plucks me off with his other hand, bringing me to his face again and giving a horrible snarl and splattering me again. I kick him, my foot catching his eye and he howls in pain, dropping me. I take off running and, furious, he follows. I have a slight head start, as he spent way too much time screeching about his eye.

"I will _kill_ you," he shrieks, and my blood runs cold. I have to keep running. If I run, he'll abandon the twins. I can lead him away. This is about me, not about them. The twins don't have to suffer for this. "You are a spineless, disgusting piece of filth," he growls as I scream and he snatches me up into the air again. "Look at what you have brought upon your _friends_."

He lands on an overpass, transformed again, holding me out toward them so that I can see. I close my eyes tightly.

"Do you see?" he croons. "_Do you see?_"

"Let them go," I say. My voice is much stronger than I feel. "I'll kill you. I'll _kill you_."

At this he just laughs, dropping me from the overpass. A car beneath me breaks my fall, and I know it isn't luck; he timed it perfectly. The car jerks and spirals as my back goes through the windshield. Then he jumps down in front of me, plucking me off the car and kicking it aside; the people inside are screaming.

"You will remember this," he says, his clawed fingers digging into my skin. I snarl at him, but my voice is already failing me. "You will do well to obey your Lord."

He is hit from behind a moment later and drops me again, using that hand to claw at his attacker; Mudflap.

"Get-away-from-her!" he says with each punch he throws. Starscream is screeching and finally kicks the smaller bot away. He stands and they face off, me caught in the middle. But then I hear a noise and Starscream's eyes narrow. Following his gaze, I see that the others have arrived; Optimus, Ironhide, Bumblebee and Sideswipe. Ratchet's emergency hummer is wailing. They're all in their car forms, Sideswipe, as the fastest, having overtaken them.

Like the coward that he is, Starscream turns to run, plowing into cars. Sideswipe and the others, I notice, are very careful not to hit them.

Sideswipe tackles him, but he makes a quick, air-bound getaway. I hardly notice. Mudflap and I are sprinting back to Skids, who still hasn't gotten up. He's on his back on the ground, and I slide in more fluid… robot blood? I can't be sure. His glowing blue eyes are dim, and when he sees us he gives a little moan of pain.

"Skids," I gasp, sliding on my knees at his side. I grab his huge, heavy hand; he doesn't have the energy to lift it, so it just sits there. "Oh my God, Skids?"

He's got a big hole in his chest; deep, but not through. His body is dented and scraped, one of his legs mangled.

"Skids?" Mudflap's voice is quiet, tentative. "C'mon, bro, don' be a pussy. You's okay!"

There's no energy behind his teasing, though. Skids's eyes flicker. I make a soft choking sound.

"I'm so sorry," I breathe, trying not to break into tears. "Skids, I'm so sorry."

"Not—yo' fault," he says, his voice hitched. I give a half-sob, half-laugh, nodding my head rigorously.

"Yes it is," I say, moving around to touch his face. Mudflap is leaning over him worriedly. "You have no idea. It is. I'm so sorry."

I can't stop saying it. Mudflap is silent, having propped his brother up in his lap, sitting on his knees. But I can't stop the stream of words, as though, somehow, if I say them enough, it'll make everything better.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

* * *

><p><strong>That's that! I hope you guys liked it! And I really like the contrast. In the beginning, you get to see a really happy, excited, hyper Parker—the way she used to be around her brother. By the end, she's upset, and it'll get worst in the next chapter.<strong>

**And be warned; the next chapter is going to contain a lot of internal conflict, sadness, and berating on Parker's behalf. She's not being angsty or emo, and it's not permanent, she's just putting things together. And she's gonna have some bonding with Sideswipe (yay!) and also Optimus (yay!) so be ready for that.**

**As always: Fave part?**


	10. Chapter 10

**Note: Yay, new Chapter! My typos in previous chapters bother me so much. There was one in the last note, at the end, when I said WORST instead of WORSE. Omg asdaskjfgsalfja KILL ME. I know the difference gaaah.**

**Anyway. Rant over. Here, we have some SideswipexParker and OptimusxParker bonding. D'aaaww. Parker's kind of weak and mopey and sad in this chapter, but in the next one she's all better. But can you blame her?**

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><p><span>Chapter 10<span>

"No!" I scream. "No, no, _no_ Lennox, please no, please don't make me leave him! Lennox—Lennox please, _please_—_listen to me_—I can't go, I can't leave him—_no!_ Please—"

My body is pressed flat against Lennox's; he's blocking me from the door separating me and Skids, dragging me out. I've thrown myself against him, fighting hard, _screaming_.

"Carmen! Carmen, _stop!_ You can't help him! You can't—listen to me—" He grabs my chin in one of his hands, forcing me to meet his eyes. "_You can't help him_," he says, his voice fierce, firm. "You're going to get in the way. You need to be strong."

I'm already shaking my head in his hand. For some reason I'm not crying; I don't feel anything but anger. "Lennox," I beg, "_please—"_

He grabs my shoulders and shakes me. "Ratchet is taking care of him now. You can't be in the way. Do you understand me? _You can't be in there._"

"I—but—" My eyes search his face for something, any sign of weakness that I can pick at, but he's firm. I start shaking my head. "Can he save him?"

"I don't know," he says, glancing over his shoulder. We're back at the hangar. Ratchet had done what he could for Skids on-site but we'd had to transport him back here. It's around two in the morning, and Skids had had to be air-lifted back to base. No one was allowed inside the big room where Ratchet worked; no one but Mudflap, who hadn't left his brother's side. I hadn't spoken to him since we'd gotten back to base.

The other bots were in the hangar behind Lennox and me, standing, looking worried. I'm sure they've all witnessed my screaming, but I don't care. I'm not thinking about anyone or anything but Skids.

Lennox's eyes scan my body up and down; he looks incredibly stressed out, on the verge of snapping. He's trapped my wrists in his hands; I'd been shoving hard against his chest.

"You should have a doctor look at you," he says.

"What? _No._"

He just shakes his head. "Please don't fight me on this," he says tiredly. "I've got a lot to do—"

"Then _do it_," I snap, shoving away from him. He opens his mouth to object, but I cut him off. "I'm _fine!"_ I cry. "Lennox, I'm _fine!_ Forget about me; all the doctors should be worrying about _Skids!_"

I turn away from him and start walking furiously out toward the open air, out of the hangar. He swears. I hope I'm not limping.

"Carmen!"

"God_damn_it," I cry, "I've got a scrape, _maybe_, but I'll survive! I'm not seeing anyone until I know Skids is fine. I'm not going to be a distraction. They need to focus on _him._"

We have a quiet stare down. Lennox looks exhausted, stressed, and completely pissed off. I'm pretty sure I don't look much better. Finally he just pinches the bridge of his nose.

"You know what? Fine. Fine! Do what you want. I'm going to talk to Mudflap about what happened."

"Don't bother him," I say worriedly, reaching a hand toward Lennox, but I'm too far to touch him. "Why can't you ask _me_?"

"I'll talk to _you_ later."

I want to argue, but I don't have the energy. Prime saves me from having to respond. "I must speak with him as well," he says, then shakes his head tiredly. "This does not make any sense."

I stare at them for a moment, my hand clutching at my throat. It's burning.

"I'm so sorry," I breathe. "I—I'm—tell him that."

Optimus nods and Lennox finally gives me a gentle look, but I can't stand it, not when I know why this happened. I am to blame—literally. I'm not the type to take the blame for something that isn't my fault, but this stemmed directly from my decision to ignore Megatron. It had been a lesson. God only knows how bad it might be next time.

_Next time_. No, I think to myself. There won't _be_ a next time. I have to fix this.

But I can't think about that now. I can't stop moving, can't stop pacing and tugging at my hair and worrying at my lower lip with my teeth. There's a loud _bang!_ from outside, and for one horrible moment I let loose a small, terrified, desperate shriek, thinking that somehow Starscream has found us. But when I whirl around to face the outside I discover that it's only Ironhide, blowing things up and blowing off steam.

"Hey," Sideswipe says, his voice unusually gentle. I jump at the sound, staring up at him. He gets down on one knee so that we're closer; I lean against the wall next to the gigantic, robot-sized door keeping Skids from me, the one Lennox and Optimus disappeared behind.

"Hi," I murmur, wrapping one arm around my body, rubbing my opposite elbow. My voice is very quiet now, very raspy. I can't meet his eyes—I can't stand to look at any of them. I tense as he lifts a large silvery hand toward me, but relax when he touches the top of my head with his huge palm. But he doesn't say anything. When he removes his hand I glance quickly up at his face; his eyes are focused on the ground, and he looks like he's in pain.

"Sideswipe?" I breathe, "You okay? Are you hurt?" He had tackled Starscream, after all. He gives a soft, self-deprecating chuckle.

"Only my pride," he sighs. I shake my head, but he looks angry. I reach up with one hand and touch the hand resting on his knee. He looks at me again, but I avoid his eyes. I can feel him watching me as I pull my hand away. I have no idea what to say.

"Do… do you think he'll be okay?" I finally ask, my voice very small.

"For Mudflap's sake, I hope so."

"What do you mean?"

He lets out a heavy, painful sigh. "Mudflap and Skids are twins," he says slowly, and there's anguish in his voice. "One without the other… it just wouldn't be right."

"You mean like you and your brother." _And me and Savannah._ Sideswipe nods, reaching out to touch my head. This is painful for him. I don't know if he's seeking comfort through his touches or if he can sense my distress, but I lean forward on one of his fingers, nearly hugging it.

"I've fought many battles," he says, "and lost many friends and endured many wounds. But _nothing_ compares to the agony of losing a twin. It leaves a hole, an emptiness that cannot be filled. It's like I've lost half of myself. It is a pain I wouldn't wish on anyone."

I swallow thickly, rubbing his wrist. I want to tell him, _I know_, but I can't. Some insane part of me won't give up my secret.

"I'm so sorry," I say again, and he just strokes my back with one finger, not saying anything. We sit like that for a while in silence, me leaning against him. I want to tell him that I understand his pain, that he isn't alone. I want it so badly. But I can't. Maybe he senses it somehow; maybe it's a twin thing.

Eventually he pulls his hand away and stands.

"Where are you going?"

"I can't just do nothing." For a moment those words steal my breath. "Are you going after him?" I ask, nearly slipping up and saying Starscream's name. "Take me with you."

He just laughs. "No," he says, "I'm going for a drive. I would offer to take you, but I don't think Optimus would appreciate it; besides, I don't think it's safe for you right now."

"Oh," I murmur. He reaches town and taps me on top of the head quickly with one finger.

"Chin up, girl," he says, and I try to smile as he transforms and takes off into the night to drive. I think he needs to be alone; I think this is bringing back too many awful memories for him, just like it is for me.

I lean against the wall again and slide down till my butt hits the floor. I curl my sore knees up and rest my arms on them, closing my eyes, just praying that Skids will be okay. I won't be able to live with myself if he isn't okay.

I can't stop thinking about what Sideswipe had said, and I realize then that he and I have a lot in common. If he knew the truth—if I had come here in honesty, as Parker instead of Carmen, I wonder if our relationship would have been different. I wouldn't call him a _friend_ now—that's a term I reserve for Mudflap, Skids, and even Bumblebee. I'm still not sure where Optimus and I stand. Sometimes I'm sure we're friends, but sometimes I'm just confused. But I feel that Sideswipe and I could have been closer, or at least _talked_ more.

He's right. Completely, totally, 100% correct. The pain that had come with losing Savannah… it had left me empty. I bite my lower lip angrily. I'd been able to deal with this better before, when I'd lived with Megatron, when the only thing I had room to feel was _anger_. Coming here had ruined me—had ruined _everything_. I'd started loving again, I'd started feeling happy again. I'd laughed again.

I try to find that old piece of me, the emotionless, cold Parker, the one who doesn't care, but I can't find her anywhere. Somehow, in living here, I'd been _healed_. At least somewhat. And what had I brought on them in return? What had I brought the ones who had helped me? Pain. The same kind of pain that had shut me down two years ago.

Right now I hate everyone and everything. I hate Optimus Prime for causing that accident years ago. I hate Megatron for saving me and not just letting me die with my family. I hate Barricade for being cruel to me, hardening me. I hate Starscream for what he did tonight, and I hate Mudflap and Skids for reminding me of my brother and making me laugh, Bumblebee for being so irresistibly … _Bumblebee_.

And I hate Optimus, one more time, for making me _feel_ again, for making me realize that he wasn't the monster I had thought he was, for making me feel at home here. I hate him most of all.

These emotions—this anger, this hate—is easier for me to deal with. I'm familiar with this. When I had lost Savannah and my mother, I had just turned angry, had let hate rule my life, and I'd been much better off then. I see that now. I shouldn't have been stupid, shouldn't have lingered here. I should have gotten the job done. Prime would be dead now, none of this would be happening. Skids would be okay.

Yet, at the thought of Optimus dying, my heart closes up a little more, quivering in my chest, and I can't cling to the thought for long, which only makes me angrier because I'm scared. I know that's why I'm here—to give Megatron information so he can kill Optimus. But I can't do it.

I turn to the anger again, using it to fuel me, to make me brave. There's a solution. A simple one, one where no one has to be hurt.

I can leave. I can leave now, right now, and no one would know. I know how to evade them. Is it the coward's way out? Of course. But it keeps the ones I love safe. Once I know Skids is okay, I tell myself, I'll leave. Megatron can find another spy. He can kill me, for all I care, but I'm done doing this.

I can't hurt people like this. I can't let Mudflap hurt the way I've been hurt. And right now I feel so guilty that I might be sick. _What have I done?_ No one deserves this pain.

Someone taps me on the shoulder and I look up, my eyes settling on Bumblebee. I look away quickly, and he gently grabs me by my arms with both of his hands, lifting me to my feet.

"What?" I rasp. "What do you want?"

He makes a hushing motion, bringing one finger to where his mouth should be, tapping his throat. I understand and nod. Without a word he transforms into the Camaro and the door springs open. I brace my hand against the roof for a moment before I climb in.

And we just sit there, him and me. Neither of us speaks. I curl up on the front seat and he turns on the heaters, just a little, enough to warm me slightly. After a little while he starts to drive very slowly in a gentle, swirling "_S_" pattern, playing soft music, and I know he's trying to comfort me, that we're comforting each other. I don't have the heart to tell him that I'm the _last_ person who needs to be comforted. Instead I rub the seat gently with my palm, telling him that everything will be okay. He's suffering, too.

It's probably around three in the morning when Bumblebee slows and the huge door opens. My fingers clutch the seats, but he doesn't stop me. Lennox steps out first, glancing around for me, and I don't move. I don't move a muscle until Optimus steps out behind him.

It's as though, seeing him, all the walls and the dams I'd carefully constructed in the last hour crumbled. My heart is racing, my mind faltering. Bumblebee must sense something because the door flies open and I'm out of the vehicle in an instant, sprinting toward Prime. He says something that I don't catch to Lennox, who nods and, giving me a look, walks away. Turning away from him, Optimus takes a step toward me, reducing the distance that I have to run.

"Optimus," I gasp as I reach him, my hands stretched out to touch him. Out of the corner of my eye I see Bumblebee drive away so that it's only us in the hangar. There are so many things that I want to say, all of them bubbling to my lips at once so that it's hard to breathe. I must look a mess because he crouches down, elbows on his knees, to bring himself closer to me; his face is creased with concern and I can't stand it.

"How is he?"

"Skids is a strong young warrior," he says, "and Ratchet is very good at what he does."

That didn't answer my question, but I know it must be bad if he won't tell me. I stop asking. When he offers me his hand I climb on and he lifts me up, placing me on the raised platform so that we're speaking easily at eye level. His fingers curl around one of the rails as he leans close to me.

"Were you hurt?" he asks gently, and I shake my head. He sighs. "This was not your fault," he urges me, and at his words I nearly crumble.

"Yes it is," I rasp, my voice hoarse and grating. "It _is_. He was after me. He was after _me_." I say the last part so softly the second time that I'm not sure if he hears it. I look up at him pleadingly. "Optimus," I say, "I am _so sorry._" And my voice is rising, and it has a quavering little hitch that I can't stand.

"Hush," he says, his deep voice still so gentle. "You shouldn't be speaking." I know he's referring to my throat and I shake my head.

"It's fine," I practically wheeze. He just shakes his head.

"Mudflap told me that you were very brave," he rumbles. "He said you tried to take out Starscream on your own?" His tone is disapproving and I flare up defensively. I don't say anything, but I fold my arms over my chest crossly and glare at him slightly. He gets the message.

"That was dangerous," he goes on, his tone mildly chastising. "Did you really… _attack_ him?" It sounds like he's in pain, saying the words, and I nod. He does that thing he always does; his brow furrows and he rubs his forehead.

"_What?_" I demand. "Sam can do it, but I can't? You told me what he did—"

"There is a difference," he starts, but I cut him off sharply.

"The only difference between Sam and me is that _Sam_ has a _penis_," I snap. "I can handle myself just fine."

He looks mildly startled, but I'm glad to be angry. It'll keep me from crying. "_That_," he says, "is not the point. I do not doubt your ability to handle yourself—"

"Then what?" I demand, "What is the problem?"

"I don't want you getting hurt." His tone is sharp, almost biting, his voice slightly louder and I'm startled. I must look it, because he sighs again. "I am sorry."

"Whatever. I'll let it go. I can see that this is going nowhere fast."

For a moment we just glare at each other, and he looks about as irritated as I feel before he closes his eyes, controlling his face. I wonder how it is that I get under his skin so easily.

"That is not what I wanted to talk to you about," he says, changing the subject.

"I'm listening."

"Is there _any_ way that Starscream could have known where you were at that time?" he questions. "When Barricade had you, he didn't manage to somehow get a tracking device into you?"

My earrings.

"No," I say slowly. "Not that I remember." My voice is wavering pathetically again and I swallow hard, looking away. A tear slips out of the corner of my eye and I'm shocked beyond words when he moves one gigantic finger to gently, _so gently_, touch my face, effectively obliterating the tear. I look up, his finger still on my skin, and for a moment we lock eyes. I raise my hand to touch his finger, laying my hand over it and leaning into it before he pulls away, clearing his throat.

I feel sort of lost without it.

I don't take my eyes from his face, though, and I know that he knows it. He looks uncomfortable under my gaze, looking anywhere but at me, even at the floor far beneath him. He looks troubled deeply by something but I know he'll never spill without being prodded first.

"Hey," I murmur, "you okay?"

"Yes."

"Liar." He turns his eyes to me but doesn't say anything. I find the strength to grin at him. "You're the leader of a powerful alien rebel force, but you're probably one of the worst liars I know."

He makes a soft huffing noise, and I'm not sure if he's amused or annoyed with me.

"I was thinking."

"I know." I roll my eyes. Playing, teasing him like this—it's easier than thinking about what's happening in the other room. "About what?"

"About Mudflap and Skids. About the humans on the freeway." I nod, urging him to continue, and this time he definitely looks annoyed. "What is it," he says, "_about you?_"

I don't know what me means by this, so I just grin.

"Mudflap will be devastated if he loses his brother," he goes on after a moment, watching me carefully, waiting for me to tell him to stop. "And I was thinking about how many more human lives were destroyed tonight."

My heart stutters for a moment. I know he's talking about my family, wondering how much more pain like that had been caused. I know I should tell him now, because it's clear, it's _so_ clear that he's still suffering for it.

I can take that pain away.

But I'm a coward, so I keep my mouth closed.

"Optimus Prime," I say gently, my voice tentative. I know that, in some twisted way, he is blaming himself. "None of this was your fault."

"It wasn't yours," he counters, and this nearly makes me break again. Why does he _do_ this to me? I immediately start shaking my head.

"It _was_," I manage to choke out. "It really was. Optimus, I—"

His gigantic finger touches my lips gently, silencing me. He just shakes his head at me, very seriously. I look away again, wrapping my arms around myself.

"Are you sure you weren't hurt?" he asks me, removing his finger. "Your clothes are torn, and you are filthy."

I'm not sure why it's _this_ that finally gets me, but it does. I let out a small, gasping sob and cover my face with my hands, shaking my head again.

"These," I manage to say, my voice rising, "were my _only_ nice clothes!" I'm far more devastated than I should be.

He starts to speak again, but I ignore him until I notice that he's stumbling over his words. "You did—ah—look very… nice."

For a moment I just stare at him and he stares right back at me, looking _almost_ embarrassed and a little apprehensive. And then I start laughing wet, teary laughs. "Thank you," I mumble, wiping at my eyes. He scratches at the back of his head.

"You look horrible now, however," he says, which only makes me laugh more. He's right; I can see my reflection in him. My nice red blouse is torn and brown from dried blood, smudged with dirt and black oil. My jeans are ripped at the knees, and in my shirt are a couple of large holes from Starscream's talon-fingers. Beneath the holes, I know, are tears in my skin, but they'd stopped bleeding. I'm pretty sure my back is cut up a little too, and I can see that my hair is a wild mess and that my skin is smudged with dirt, blood, sweat, and Starscream-spit.

I shudder. I'm also missing one shoe, and my bare foot is raw on the bottom from all the running. My hip is so sore from where the car hit it that I'm afraid to peel my pants off later. I'm almost embarrassed to be standing in front of him like this.

It's quiet for a little while, but he doesn't leave me. I lean against the railing, and he curls his fingers around it beside me, almost like he's ready to catch me if I fall. It's all getting to me again when I finally speak up.

"I _hate_ them, Optimus," I gasp suddenly behind a new round of sobs. I try to hold them back. _"I hate them."_

But the tears come anyway, and my nose is scrunched up and I'm baring my teeth as I cry, trying to fight it, but I can't.

"I hate them."

He doesn't reply. Instead, he takes one of his hands and lines it up carefully with my back, pressing it against me so that he's gently cupping my body; firmly, but allowing me to escape if I need to. He very slowly brings his face to mine, his movements careful, cautious, almost nervous. When he's close enough, though, I reach up for him. He touches his forehead to mine and I bow my head against him, reaching my hands up and curling them into his metal. Very gently, he presses my body forward.

I think this must be some sort of hug, but I'm not sure. Whatever it is, it breaks my heart, and I can't believe I'm betraying him even as I stand here, pretending to be Carmen. I can't stand to hear him speak that name. For a moment I cling to him almost desperately, rubbing my hands against his forehead before he pulls away, definitely looking embarrassed.

"What was that?" I ask, wiping my eyes; the skin around them feels red and raw.

"I—humans—you seek comfort through touch, do you not?"

"We do," I murmur.

"I cannot… _hold_ you," he says, and then I understand. "Not, at least, the way that you do."

I sniff slightly, trying to smile. His hand is curled around the railing, and right then, in that moment, a fierce protectiveness strikes through me, almost overpowering. It stops the tears, makes me strong, and I feel like, in that moment, I can do _anything_.

"Hey," I say, catching his attention. "Open your hand and flip it over. Palm out."

He looks confused, but he does as I ask. I step forward and rest one of my hands on the space of metal between this thumb and forefinger. It takes him a moment, but he finally, slowly, closes his gigantic hand around my tiny one. We both stare at our hands for a moment before looking at each other.

"I know you think… because I'm smaller than you, and softer than you, and weaker than you, and not made of metal like you, that I can't, but…" I trail off for a moment, trying to gather my words. In the meantime he speaks up.

"Carmen," he says, and the name kills me. "Do not for a second believe that I think that you are weaker than me."

He's killing me. Oh, God, is he killing me, ripping me apart from the inside out, making me feel like the worst kind of coward. I just nod at him, my eyebrows scrunching up in determination. I glance at our hands again, at the _impossibility_ that they represent, and I go on.

"I won't let them hurt you, Optimus Prime. I'll protect you. I promise."

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><p><strong>That's that! I hope you guys liked it! <strong>

**Oooh, what was your favorite part? I think mine was when she was screaming at Lennox—the very first lines. I can picture it so clearly in my head. Or maybe just the bits with her and Optimus. :) Yay, more bonding! I love hoe she bothers him sometimes.**

**Okay. So. I've got a couple of things to cover in the next chapter or two before things REALLY start to pick up. ;) Thanks for reading!**


	11. Chapter 11

**NOTE: Sort of a filler. In the next chapter, things come to a head. YAY FOR EXCITING TWISTS! Or I think it's exciting anyway. :) And you get to see "human" Optimus and Ironhide in this one. Enjoy! I don't have the energy to proofread this too well, because I'm more interested in writing the next chapter. ;)**

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><p><span>Chapter 11<span>

It's been a couple of days since Starscream had attacked us. A couple of days since I'd almost lost Skids, since I'd promised myself I would leave… since I'd promised Optimus I would protect him, which basically equates to my leaving.

I've been subtly making preparations; I've thrown what little clothes I have in a bag in the corner of my room. There's really not much else for me to take. The hard part, now, is finding a way _out_ of here. I've considered a few options, but none of them actually seem _realistic_. I've considered taking off in the middle of the night, but they would notice that. During the day is out of the question. I think that, maybe, if one of them drives me into town I can escape that way, but I'm too scared to ask.

Then again, if I run quickly and don't give Megatron time to find them with me, everything should be fine. This, I realize, is probably my best option.

That night, after it had all happened, I'd been so angry that I'd decided to take out my earrings. Or I'd tried to, anyway. But as I had tried to tug off the backs and separate them, tiny, miniscule steel structures, almost like arms, had peeled off and embedded themselves in my skin, and the earrings had emitted a horrible, high-pitched shriek. My ears had bled from the prongs, but once I'd stopped struggling and released them, they'd calmed down.

Megatron had contacted me shortly after and after I'd pledged my allegiance to him all over again, reassured him that I'd never do anything stupid ever again, he'd let me try to sleep, which I hadn't done. I'd spent the remainder of my night out with the bots, waiting with them.

Lennox had talked to me, too, but I hadn't given him any information about Megatron. I see no reason to, since I'll be leaving soon. The only good thing to come out of these few days is that Ratchet is sure that Skids will be okay. We won't lose him. The news is more than anything I could have ever dared to hope for.

I'd thrown myself into Mudflap's arms, then, and he'd held me awkwardly against his large chest, bumping his forehead against mine. We'd been so happy. I try to remember that feeling now, as I stuff the last of my clothes into my bag military-print green bag, telling myself that no matter how much I love them, this is for the best.

I need to leave soon, before I talk myself out of it.

I've already thought up my excuse to leave. With Skids recovering, I'll tell them I want to buy him flowers. Stupid? Yes. But it's a human enough sentiment that Lennox should understand, and the bots will probably write it off, because they _won't_ understand it. And it's believable. I really do want to get him flowers, foolish as it is, and I hate myself for using that as the lie.

But it's all for a good reason, I remind myself. They'll be safer this way.

Tonight I have work to do, so I figure I'll ask Lennox now to let me out tomorrow. I know it'll require a lot of begging, considering the disaster that had happened the last time I'd been let out, but I'll find a way to make it work. I have to. I won't say good-bye to them, which hurts, but I have to remind myself it's for the best.

When I look around my room, making sure I haven't forgotten anything, I rest my bag beside the door and head down to the hangar. I have to wash Prime and Sideswipe tonight. As I enter the hangar Lennox is leaving, and I seize my opportunity.

"Lennox!" I say. "Hey—I need to ask you something."

"What's up?" He leans casually against a wall. He looks better, I notice, like he's gotten some sleep.

"Lennox, I… I want to do something nice… for Skids."

He raises an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"I actually wanted to get him flowers, you know, while he's healing…" I mumble, actually blushing at how stupid it sounds. He opens his mouth immediately to protest. "No—listen! He fought for me. I feel terrible. And I know it's a human thing and he probably won't get it, but I _want_ to do this for him."

"Absolutely not."

"But—"

"But nothing." He says firmly. "Carmen, there's _no way_ I'm letting you off this base again."

"So I'm a prisoner?"

"You don't have to look at it that way," he says with a shrug, "but—"

"What if I take another car?" I beg. "One that's not alive? That way no one will get hurt if something happens, which it won't but—"

"The Autobots can handle themselves," he says, "it's you we're worried about."

"What are the chances of it happening again?" I demand. "It was luck. It had to be. There's no way they could possibly be tracking me."

"This conversation is over."

"_Please_."

"No!"

And from then on, any time I try to open my mouth he cuts me off. It's incredibly irritating, but finally I just turn away from him and walk into the hangar, fuming. I know he's right. It would be stupid of him to say yes, but he doesn't know what I know. There won't _be_ another attack, not unless I disobey Megatron again. And by the time I do that, I'm planning on being long gone.

I'm still fuming as I wash Sideswipe. He tries to joke with me and cheer me up, but my laughs are only half-hearted and still slightly angry. We've grown closer since our brief conversation that night. The only ones who are still apprehensive around me, it seems, are Ironhide and Ratchet. But there's no time to fix that now.

I send Sideswipe back inside and start on Prime, and he immediately senses my mood and keeps silent. My strokes on his hood are harsh and angry, but I doubt it bothers him. I use a small ladder to climb up _on_ the hood to get the windshield, and as I do something wet, a jet of water, hits me in the face.

I'm _so_ confused. I freeze on the hood, the sponge in my hands dripping.

"Did you just—" I start, but I'm cut off as another stream gets me, soaking my face and neck. I splutter, and beneath me the truck rumbles. It only takes me a moment to realize what's going on; he'd shot me with a jet of windshield wiper fluid.

I throw the sponge _hard_ at the windshield, but it only splatters and throws suds up, covering us both.

"What is your prob—"

He gets me again.

I spit out a mouthful of the fluid, shocked. And then I just start laughing. It's an amused laugh, but I also feel sad, because I hope that after tonight I won't see him again. It's a hard thing to imagine.

"There," he says from beneath me as I laugh. "Much better."

"Sorry," I sigh once the laughter dies down. I continue washing him, bracing my knees against the windshield to get the top.

"Why are you so angry?"

This is my chance. Maybe, if I have Optimus Prime on my side, I'll get my way.

"Lennox," I sigh. "He's being… overprotective."

"In what way?"

I act uncomfortable. "I wanted to get Skids something—as a thank you. But he won't let me go anywhere."

Beneath me, Optimus makes an uncomfortable sound. "I am sorry," he begins, "but I have to agree with him. It's dangerous—"

"I'd take a car that isn't—you know… alive," I mumble. "Not that there's any chance something would happen _again¸ _but—"

"That's hardly necessary," he scoffs. Then he sighs. "You are either very foolish," he says, "or very brave, for a human."

"What are you talking about?"

"Only days have passed since the attack," he explains, "and already you are willing to leave the safety of the base."

I want to tell him that I'm neither foolish nor brave—that I just have a direct link to my attackers, that I know, that I am _certain_ that I won't be attacked.

"I know," I mumble, "but… it's stupid. I know. I just thought…"

I trail off, realizing how very immature I sound. I'm really starting to miss the strong, cold Parker I used to be. I seem so whiney right now, so manipulative, and I hate it. But, at the same time, if it gets me what I need…

"What is it you wanted to do for him?"

"I wanted to get him flowers."

A low chuckle. "This is a strange human custom."

"I know," I say, "but it means a lot to us."

"And it would make you feel better?"

_No._ "Yeah, I guess," I lie. "I don't know."

He groans beneath me as I climb down and squirt off the suds. He seems to be thinking.

"I… I will talk to Lennox."

My face lights up, and my smile is so wide that it hurts. The guilt nags at the back of my mind, but I push it away. Even though my intentions aren't so true, I can't help but feel an immense wave of gratitude toward him.

"_Thank you_."

He makes a grumbling sound as I begin to dry him off.

"As long as it makes you happy," he mutters, so lowly that I almost don't catch it. I lean against him and stroke one of his doors.

"It does," I murmur. "You're the best."

"There will be conditions," he says.

"As in…?"

"I'll be going with you."

I should be thrilled. I _love_ spending time with him, and if I wasn't planning on running away, this news would actually be exciting. Now, though, it just hurts a little bit.

"That's a _condition_?" I bump him with my good hip. "Sounds like an incentive." He makes a quiet spluttering sound and I grin. "I can't wait to hear the other _'conditions.'_ What are they?"

"We will make it quick," he continues.

"Of course." I nod.

"Ironhide will come as well."

"Why?"

"It cannot hurt to have another soldier on the lookout."

He's only making it more difficult for me. And really; _Ironhide? _I try to hide my annoyance and instead focus on how kind he's being.

"Thank you," I breathe again, then grin. "You're the _nicest_, and _kindest_, and _sweetest_—"

"Cut that out," he mutters.

"—and most _special_, and—" He swings his door open and hits me in the hip with it. I laugh and shove it closed. "I have one problem with your conditions, though," I tell him.

"And what is that?"

"Do we have to bring _Ironhide?_"At this he actually laughs, which makes me laugh a little, too.

We spend some time talking when I'm done with him. He transforms and, once I grab my sketchbook, lifts me up so that I'm sitting in his hand, leaning against his chest.

"Why do you always have that with you?"

"My sketchbook?"

"Yes."

"It helps me," I shrug. "It's like a comfort blanket, I guess. Drawing calms me down."

"What do you draw?"

"Anything," I tell him, "but mostly you guys, lately."

"You draw the Autobots?"

"Yeah," I say, folding my legs underneath me, feeling slightly embarrassed. But I'd rather talk about this than think about tomorrow. I can feel him looking over my shoulder curiously as I flip it open to a drawing of Skids; I'd visited him yesterday, and he'd said:

"_Draw me like one of your French girls._"

He'd been referencing _Titanic_, of course, the movie we had seen together, and I'd laughed hard through my tears. But he'd managed to strike a pose for me, a simple one, and I'd drawn him as he's asked. Then we'd laughed and talked and hugged, and I'd apologized and he's assured me that he didn't blame me. I'd kissed his face a couple of times and told him that I loved him.

I narrow my eyes at Optimus over my shoulder. He _knows_ I don't like it when he peeks at my work, so he quickly looks away, trying to act innocent. I snicker.

"If you want to see you just have to ask," I tell him. "You don't need to be a sneak."

"You'd allow me to view them?" He sounds skeptical.

"Yes."

We stare hard at each other, a silent battle of wills, both of our eyes narrowed. Finally he just shakes his head in defeat.

"Carmen," he says, and I grit my teeth. "I am curious. May I see your drawings?"

"Why, of course you may, Optimus Prime."

He glares at me, but I smile up into his face and flip the book open. He brings me closer to his face and I turn in his hand, holding the drawing up for him to see. He chuckles softly; I've drawn Skids as a robot, for once, and not as a human. I flip through the pages, showing him another one; it's the lineup I'd done of them a very long time ago, all of them as people.

"What is this?"

"You guys," I say, "but I drew you as people instead of robots. Really tall people. That one's you." I point him out.

"This is how you imagine me?"

"Yes," I say slowly. I bite my lip. "Why? Do you not like it? I could fix it—"

"There is _nothing_ wrong with this," he says gently. "Show me another."

And I go through the book, skipping the ones that include my brother, Megatron, Starscream, or Barricade. He laughs at some of them and seems especially intrigued by my version of Ironhide. When I question him he just brushes me off.

"I like this one," he says after a while. I'm showing him the one I drew the night he took me to see the stars. It's a drawing of me, sitting on his hood, drawing pad in my lap with the stars scattered around us on the outcropping. It's really sloppy and messy, with a lot of crosshatching in the sky, but he takes the sketchbook from me, taking a closer look.

"Really?" I ask. "I gave up on that one. I never got it right."

"There are flaws," he says, "mostly in proportion and depth, but it isn't any less… beautiful."

I scoff as he hands it back to me, but I have to admit that I'm touched. I tear it out of the book, and he looks startled.

"Keep it, then," I say impulsively. I don't know why, but I want to leave him with something, even if he eventually comes to hate me. I just hope he never has to find out the truth. But this way, at least, when I leave tomorrow… I don't know what I'm thinking. I just want him to have it.

He looks confused. "Are you certain?"

"Yes."

I hold the large sheet out to him and he takes it, closing his other hand around it, careful not to crush it. I smile.

"Thank you," he says.

Something wet splatters on my head, then, and I gasp.

"Optimus _Prime_—"

"That was not me." His voice is defensive. Another splat catches my nose, then my cheekbone. It's raining.

"You've got to be kidding me," I moan. "I just washed you. _Get back inside!_"

He surprises me when he laughs, bringing me closer to his chest and using his other the hand, the one holding my drawing, to shield me from the rain. He doesn't move to get out of the rain, though, and I sigh grumpily.

"You just love making more work for me, don't you?"

"Perhaps I simply enjoy your presence," he says, and then looks a little flustered. "I mean—professionally—"

"Right," I say around a smile, rubbing his thumb. He relaxes slightly. "Professionally."

* * *

><p>I don't know how he did it; he's some sort of miracle worker. But I'm loaded into the semi—the semi that, I realize, changed my life two years ago, the semi who I had forgiven, the semi who I am leaving to protect—and the gigantic black truck that is Ironhide is grumbling beside us. I'd had the choice between who I would ride with, and, obviously, I'd chosen Optimus. Ironhide, despite his infrequent fun moments, still scares me.<p>

I hadn't said bye to anyone, and that was the hardest part. I'd left, telling them that I would see them all later. In the end, I'd left my bag in my room. I hadn't realized before how suspicious it would look. I'd also left my sketchbook in the hangar. Someone would find it soon, I knew, one of the soldiers; they were all training. My whole life, my whole story is in that sketchbook, which was why I'd decided to leave it. When they found it later, maybe they'd be able to put it together and realize what had happened.

It's the coward's way out, sure, but I owe it to them to be honest. I just hope they'll understand.

Ironhide was _not_ happy about coming with us, though he'd done it for Optimus; he was a loyal friend and soldier. We're almost to the flower shop (Ironhide had made it clear that he thought flowers were stupid), and Optimus had told me to reach into the glove compartment for money. I wouldn't take it, of course. I wouldn't steal from him. But upon opening it, I'd realized that my drawing had been folded up and carefully placed inside next to a wad of cash. I sigh and fumble around in the glove compartment, pretending, saying nothing.

When we finally arrive, I hesitate.

"Be quick," Optimus says. "You have ten minutes." Ten minutes to run, ten minutes to escape out the back of the flower shop without being noticed. "Ironhide," he continues, "patrol the area."

Ironhide rolls off, still grumbling about _stupid human sentiments_, and my heart sinks. I have to watch out for him when I run. But I put on a smile and rub the steering wheel. I pull up my hood against the rain and climb out, promising that I'll be back quickly. I shut the door behind me, and as soon as I step into the shop, my heart starts to pound. My time has started ticking.

I immediately move toward the back of the shop and into a cooling room, designed to keep the plants alive and healthy. I glance around for a door and run for it, fighting with it for a moment before swinging it open. I step out into the rain and nearly have a heart attack when Ironhide drives by. I step back in, watching him, and once he turns the corner I bolt.

I run hard and fast. My hip—which is solidly purple—throbs in protest, and my knees are still sore from the fight, but I run anyway. I'm nearly hit by a couple of cars as I dart across streets, running in any direction as long as that direction is _away_. I'm not sure how much time I have, so I keep running. I see Ironhide a couple of times and nearly fall when I change direction sharply, slipping in puddles. I already have a stitch in my side; my body really has missed training, as brutal as it was.

_Runrunrunrunrunrun,_ the thought repeats through my head on an endless loop, urging me. My hood whips off my head and rain hits my face, feeling something like ice. How much time is left? Minutes? Seconds? Ten minutes is _not_ a long time. And how far can I run in ten minutes, through these twisting streets, even if I run fast? A little over a mile, _maybe_, if I'm lucky? This is impossible.

It isn't long before I realize my time is up. Horns start honking and tires start screeching more frequently, and I realize they must be looking for me, irritating other drivers as they do so. Guilt nags at the back of my mind, but I try to focus on the task at hand. _Get away. _But there must be less than a mile between us.

I'm lost. I have no idea where I am, but I keep running. I could be going in circles for all I know, though I'm pretty sure I'm not. I push through people on the street and duck into a coffee shop when I spot Ironhide in the distance. I wait inside till he rolls by, my heart pounding. When he's gone I run out of the shop, run into the street and across to another row of shops. Soon, the shops become sparser and bus stops become more frequent. I desperately hope I'm not running back toward base, somehow.

The sounds of pissed off drivers is getting closer, though, and my knees are practically screaming out in pain. I slow to a limping jog, glancing around, making sure I don't see them anywhere. People with umbrellas are everywhere, and they're seriously irritating me. It's raining, people. _Go inside_. Then again, they are helping to camouflage me.

My sweatshirt is soaked through, heavy, weighing me down. I strip it off as I go, desperately looking around for somewhere to hide. But I don't see them anywhere; I just hear them, searching. I drop the sweatshirt in a trashcan, now wearing only soaked jeans and a tanktop, which is clinging uncomfortably to my body.

I'm starting to feel good, though. The burn in my thighs from running and jogging has finally passed and broken; I've passed _that point_, and now I feel like I can run forever. I even ignore my knees. And they haven't found me yet. Maybe, I think hopefully, just _maybe_ I can do this.

And then Ironhide shrieks around a corner directly in front of me.

"_Oh, shit!_" I cry, spinning so quickly that I slip. When I get up I nearly slam into a large man dressed in a military uniform, just like the men back at base. _"Sorry!_" I gasp, darting around him. He's _huge_. As I make a run for it and from Ironhide, the man snatches me around the waist, _hard_, and I slam into his solid body, my back to his chest. I suck in air to scream, but his hand covers my mouth almost roughly.

I squirm and kick in his arms as Ironhide rolls to a stop in front of us. I stomp on the man's foot, but he doesn't let me go.

"Calm down," he says, and at the voice I freeze. It's the exact same thing Ironhide had said to me that first day… and the voice is Ironhide's. The same deep rumble, that same accent. I manage to twist in his arms, thanks to my wet body and clothes, my eyes staring up at his.

God, is he _huge_.

His arms, both now wrapped around me, seem as thick around as tree trunks. He's maybe around six feet tall, with a broad, muscular chest; I can feel the muscles rippling against me as he restrains me. His skin is medium in tone, his jaw strong, his mouth hard-looking. He has the same scar on one eye that Ironhide the robot has, and his hair is cropped short and black. He looks for all the world like a genuine military officer. He also looks a _lot_ like the Ironhide I'd drawn in my sketchbook.

_My sketchbook!_

He can't stop me. I need to get away. Even if this man _isn't_ Ironhide, the real one is right beside us.

"Ironhide!"

I turn my head sharply at the sound of Optimus's voice, but I don't see him anywhere. Instead, there's a man running up to us, dressed in army greens like the one holding me. He's taller than the one holding me, leaner. His skin is lighter, his hair military-short and brown-black. But something about him—the slant of his eyebrows, the shape of his blue eyes, the line of his jaw—is familiar. Just behind him, Optimus the truck rolls up.

My mouth is hanging open.

"Carmen," the lean man says, using Optimus's voice. I just stare at him. He sounds _furious_; his voice is almost a snarl. The man holding me releases me and shoves me at him. "Careful, Ironhide."

The man behind me just makes an irritated sound.

"_Oh my God._" I say. "You—you're—but—_how_—"

This man, at least, doesn't really resemble the one I drew, which makes me think I'm less crazy. I don't know what to do and, still desperate, I run. One of the men catches my wrist and spins me around, pushing me until my body hits the Peterbilt. I grunt, one of my cheeks stuck to the metal, the man's body pressed firmly up against mine, pinning me.

"What were you _thinking?_"

The voice—Optimus Prime's voice—seems to come from both the truck and the man. I'm gasping, out of breath, and the man spins me so that my chest is to his chest, my back to the metal. His eyes are bright, clear blue, his mouth set angrily.

"What—"

"Carmen," he says, and his voice is livid. Again, I have the sense that the voice is coming from both the truck and the man. "What in the name if Cybertron were you _thinking?_"

"Optimus," I breathe, because it's clear that this is who the man is. Rain runs down my lips and into my mouth, catching on my eyelashes, in my hair. I blink the water away. "You're hurting me."

His grip on me is _so strong_, and he's pressed against me so tightly that it hurts my injured hip. One of his hands is pinning mine above me, somehow, completely restraining me. I can't move an inch. It's like fighting steel. His other hand comes up to my face and grips my chin; he's so angry that he seems at a loss for words. We just stare at each other, his eyes glaring, mine wide and desperate.

"You have to let me go," I beg.

"You were planning on leaving," both truck and man say. "Was that the plan this whole time? You are so _foolish_."

"I have to," I gasp. "Don't you _get it?_ If I don't, you'll be hurt—"

"I can handle myself," he says, "something that _you_ don't seem capable of."

"I promised to protect you!" I hiss. "This is me protecting you. Let me _go!_" I writhe against him, but it's no use. I'm still panting.

"You lied to me," he says darkly, and I want to tell him _More than you know_, but I don't. I just look away.

"Please let me go," I murmur.

"No," he says. "We will return to base."

I can't go back to base. If they've found the sketchbook—if they've found it, then it's all over. I pray they haven't found it.

"Optimus," I plead, "_please._"

He looks almost hurt, but clenches his jaw.

"Prime," the man says behind us. "Something's going down at base. We must return." The man talks just like Ironhide—a mix of something modern and something formal, with that accent. The Peterbilt door springs open and Optimus hauls me inside as both trucks roar to life. As I watch, Ironhide the man flickers a couple of times before vanishing.

I know these must be the hologram-things that Barricade and Starscream have used. I've seen them both before. But it's so different, so strange. I never expected Oprimus to have one, let alone the other bots.

I reach for the door handle, but the car locks.

"Stop that," Optimus says firmly. The man is sitting beside me, in the driver's seat, still glaring. I jiggle the handle desperately, but it's no use. So I just stare at the man. He looks like any other man, really. Good-looking, but those _eyes_. They're definitely inhuman; they literally glow, just slightly, casting his cheekbones in blue.

"Stop staring at it," the truck says, and the man looks annoyed.

"That's you?"

"In a manner of speaking." I just stare. "Stop staring."

I blink and look away, curling up on the seat, my heart pounding. _Something's going down at base._ Please, _please_, don't let them have found my sketchbook. _Please_. That was a stupid move. I'd been overly-confident, had assumed my plan would work.

Stupid.

The rest of the drive is furiously silent. He doesn't say another word to me, and the anger just seems to get worse. The man vanishes after a few minutes. When we arrive at base, the door opens.

"Get out." He says, and his voice is cold.

I step out, and the sound of someone transforming causes me to spin around. Ironhide has rushed me. I scream and try to dodge, but he seizes me in one huge fist and chaos breaks out.

The hangar opens and the bots all transform, looking wary. Soldiers are looking confused and angry. Ironhide trains a cannon on me. Optimus is the only one who hasn't transformed. Mudflap is looking at me with something like hurt on his face.

Something like betrayal.

Bumblebee looks angry, which is a strange expression to see on him. Ratchet even looks furious. Sideswipe is skating around us, but he won't meet my eyes.

"Ironhide," a voice from below barks. "Bring her down here."

Still in his hand, he lowers me closer to the ground, where my eyes find Lennox. He is standing tall, looking stressed again. His eyes are dark, his face blank and set.

"If you have anything to tell us, now is the time."

I swallow. I don't know why I lie, but I do. It's instinctual. Two years of living with psychotic robots will do that to a girl, will train her to say certain things at certain times. Now, it's all about survival, and I've got a cannon aimed at my head.

"I have nothing to say," I murmur.

And then a voice, a voice that is almost unfamiliar calls out.

"_Parker!_"

My heart stops.

* * *

><p><strong>That's it till next time! What did you think? Did you like it? What was your favorite part of this chapter? LONGEST CHAPTER YET YAY!<strong>

**The next chapter is gonna be somethin', let me tell ya. I'm so excited to post it! I'm working on it now! So the next chapter is basically when everything comes together and falls to pieces. YAY!**

**Thanks for reading! **


	12. Chapter 12

**NOTE: HARD CHAPTER WAS HARD TO WRITE OMG. It's so, so, so, so, so emotional, but in the end I'm very happy with it. Also, I'll be switching Points of View; we finally get to see Parker from someone else's eyes.**

**I really do appreciate all the amazing reviews you guys left me. I was able to get this chapter done so much faster because of them! I haven't replied to them yet because I've been too busy writing. But keep them coming!**

Chapter 12

Inside my head, all hell breaks loose.

That voice. That _voice_. I don't want to believe it, but it's right there in front of me. I want to close my eyes. I want to wake up from this horrible nightmare. It can't be real. It can't be real. It can't be _real_.

_He_ can't be real.

My eyes scan faces frantically, and I hear him call my name again.

"Parker? _Parker!_" A sound like panting, and then, "_Get out of the way!_"

One of the soldiers nearest to me is shoved aside, and then there he is, standing in his place, looking just as frantic as I'm feeling. And we just stare at each other. My mind has gone blank, stuttering, trying to figure out what to do. He's staring at me, disbelief etched into his features. All around us is silence, complete silence, like everyone is afraid to shatter the stillness.

"_No,_" I finally say, and it comes out like a sob. "No! No, no, _no!_"

He's wearing the usual military green getup and boots. He's older, but he's still the same, if slightly hardened. His dark skin is identical to mine, his mouth still with that soft edge, his almond-shaped eyes copies of my own. His hair is gone, shaved bald, but it doesn't look bad.

I can't make sense of this. Nothing makes sense anymore. It's as though everything I thought I knew has shattered into a million pieces. There's one more moment of stillness before we're fighting to get to each other, despite the impossibilities.

"Savannah!" I scream, more desperate now than I have ever been in my life. "_Savannah!_" My whole body is trembling, my heart _pounding_, and I can't catch my breath. I struggle in Ironhide's hand, reach out to him, but I can't reach him. I'm still too high off the ground. I fight with everything I have; I've never fought so hard in my life, even though I know it's no use.

"Let me go!" I screech, begging. "You have to let me go! _You have to let me get to him! Savannah!_"

He keeps calling my name, just like he did that last day, the last time I'd seen him. This doesn't make sense.

"You're dead," I sob, still wiggling desperately. "You're _dead!_"

Maybe the rain helps me, or maybe Ironhide's grip goes slack for some reason. I have no idea how it happens. Maybe I've found the strength within me to fight him off, but suddenly I hit the ground and I bolt forward, tackling the man standing in front of me.

He stumbles from the sheer force of the impact as I wrap myself around him, my arms around his neck, my face buried in his shoulder, breathing him in. I clutch at his clothes, still trying to get closer, hugging him so hard to me that it's almost painful. But he's clutching me back just as hard, until I feel like my ribs will be crushed in his embrace, but I don't care. I can't think past the fact that he's here, he's _right here_, with me, in my arms after two years.

I feel his lips on my shoulder, because it's the only part of me he can kiss. Everyone is staring at us, but they seem to be putting it together. They must know who he is. He's stroking my hair, furiously rubbing my back, but he won't let me go, and I won't release him, not for anything in the whole world.

"I thought you were dead," he chokes, clinging to me. I sob into his shoulder. "They took you _away_ from me!"

"They told me you were dead," I echo shortly after. And it dawns on me. I grip the fabric at his shoulders in my hands, fury pumping through me. Two years. I pull back to stare into his eyes. "_They told me you were dead! _Two years—_two years! _And I—I thought—I—they—"

"It's okay," he says, pressing my face against his shoulder again. I've started to nearly hyperventilate, but I don't have the presence of mind to be embarrassed. "Parker, it's okay, I'm here. I'm alive, I'm here. Shh, Park, you're okay, you're okay…"

It's not okay. It will _never_ be okay. They _lied_ to me. They'd told me he was _dead_, said they'd seen his body with their own eyes, and yet here he was, alive and real and warm in my arms and breathing my name. Two years with them, wasted. Two years that I could have spent with him, living and growing and laughing. Two years that I instead spent suffering and hating.

The feelings pumping through me are unlike anything I've ever felt. Complete shock, a terrible anguish, but, above all, _bliss_. I've never known a feeling this good. The relief that washes through me, more than the shock and the anger, leaves me weak in the knees. And the _love_. I don't think I've ever loved anyone as much as I love him.

"Savannah," I manage to gasp around the sobs. It's like I can't stop saying his name. Lennox has ordered a couple of soldiers forward. "I love you—"

And suddenly my arms are pinned behind my back.

"What are you doing?" Savannah demands as someone clasps metal handcuffs around my wrists. "Stop that—_this is my sister!_"

He's in Lennox's face, having positioned himself between me and the other soldier.

"You don't understand what's going on—" Lennox starts, but Savannah cuts him off.

"_You_ don't understand—this is my _sister_," he says again, as though it'll fix everything. It doesn't.

"She could very well do time for _treason_," Lennox says furiously. "Do you have any idea what she's done?"

"_I don't care_," Savannah yells furiously, just as hot-tempered as ever. Most of the soldiers seem to have been ordered back inside. Only the bots, Lennox, Savannah, myself, and a couple of other soldiers remain. "Parker," he says, pulling me against him again, "it's going to be okay, I promise. You're going to be fine. I'll keep you safe—"

But he can't. This is it. I can't escape this.

"Rook—" Lennox starts again, talking to my brother, looking like his head might explode.

"Just give her a chance to explain!" he says. "She deserves that—"

"She _deserves_," Ironhide says, "to be put down like a dog."

This hurts, but I know he's right. I press myself more closely to my brother, my hands trapped behind my back. He turns back to me, gripping my face between his hands. His eyes are red; he's crying, too.

"Where have you been?" he demands, ignoring Ironhide.

"With _them_," I breathe. There's no hiding it now. And I would never lie to my brother. I still have that horrible, empty feeling in my stomach, like everything is ending, like nothing will be the same, and I might not come out unscathed.

"Who, Park? _Who had you?_"

I swallow thickly. "Megatron," I mumble.

Lennox runs a hand through his hair and the bots look outraged. Ironhide takes a step toward me, but Savannah blocks his way.

"Don't you _dare_ touch her," he snarls.

"Everyone inside," Lennox barks, and Savannah guides me into the hangar, outside of the rain. My head is spinning, repeating the only things that are keeping me grounded: _Savannah is alive, Savannah is here, Megatron lied…_

The bots are all staring at me, still looking betrayed and angry. Ironhide looks like he would love nothing more than to blow me into pieces. Optimus has finally transformed, standing tall and mighty, looking at me with the _worst_ expression on his face. But I don't care. All I care about right now is my brother. Anything else in the world could happen and it wouldn't matter to me.

Savannah finally just tugs me to the ground so that I'm sitting on the floor beside him, leaning into his shoulder as he wraps his arm around me, kissing my forehead.

"I don't believe this," he whispers. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too," I breathe, "more than anything." I stare into his eyes, choking on another sob. "_I thought you were gone,_" I cry, burying my face against him. "Oh, _God, _Savannah, I thought you were dead. He told me you were dead."

He seems completely unashamed of his tears as they roll down his cheeks. He has the same habit I do; he clenches his jaw and shows his teeth when he tries not to cry.

"The Decepticons took you," he says in disbelief. "I thought you were dead. They all thought you were dead. We didn't know _why—_" I just sob in response and give a low moan. I don't want to think about that now, not with him here, so solid and real and _alive_. He holds my face in his hands. "Oh my _God_," he gasps, "you're so _beautiful_."

I close my eyes as more tears streak down my cheeks. I have no idea what's going on around me. They all could have dropped dead and I wouldn't have noticed. He hugs me fiercely again, my upper body smashed against his.

"I found your sketchbook," he murmurs into the side of my head. "At first I wasn't sure if it was you. But then I saw the way you drew me, and yourself… and I _knew_. I couldn't believe it."

"_You_ found it?" I gasp, and I start to laugh horrible, wet laughs. I can't stop shaking; my body's seizing up like I've got hypothermia.

"Did they hurt you?" he asks, and the anger in his voice tells me that he knows they did. I just nod numbly. Did they hurt me? Of course. Every day, though I'd just come to think of it as normal; brutal training, being crushed… normal. But since living with Optimus, I'd realized this wasn't the case.

"I'll kill them," he snarls. "I'll _kill_ them. They'll never touch you again. You don't have to be scared. You're so brave, I—"

Ironhide makes a disgusting sound. "This girl is a _coward_," he says, and Savannah's eyes flash.

"_Don't_ talk about her that way," he says lividly.

"It is the truth."

"She was with _Decepticons_ for _two years!_ I—"

"Savannah, _don't_—"

"It's true!" He shouts, standing up, leaving me on the floor. He steps up to Ironhide, shrugging off Lennox's warning hand. "Do _not_ talk to her like she's a coward. She—"

"Soldier!" Lennox's voice is sharp. "You _will_ stand down."

Savannah's face is still livid, but he takes a stiff step back and sits beside me again.

"We've managed to put it together," Lennox says darkly, looking at me. "But we're still a little blurry on the details. And you _will_ tell us everything."

Savannah rubs my back.

"I'm sorry!" I snap at them, but none of them will catch my eye. "I never meant to hurt anyone—" But that's a lie, so I stop myself. Ironhide, the most obviously furious, scoffs at my words. "That's a lie," I say. "The _first_ thing I wanted to do was hurt you, but that all _changed_—"

"Megatron put you up to this?" Lennox asks. I nod against my brother's shoulder. My shoulders are starting to tingle. "What was the plan, Carm—_Parker_? What was his _plan?_"

Tears still trail slowly down my face. "He wanted me to come here and—and spy. We wanted to take out—Optimus." I have to halt suddenly as I speak to take shuddering breaths. I stare up at the robot in question. "I didn't _know_," I tell him. "He told me—you killed Savannah."

Optimus won't look at me when he speaks. "You're the girl from the accident."

"I should have told you," I whisper, "and I'm _so sorry_. I wanted to tell you—but I was scared—"

"Of what?" Ironhide demands.

"What happened to Skids—it was _my fault_. Megatron contacted me during the movie, and I ignored him. He sent Starscream—to teach me a lesson." I'm watching Mudflap now, but he looks so angry that I can't stand it.

"You—he almos' _died!_"

"I'm so sorry—"

"Ironhide's right," he says angrily, "you deserves nothin' more than bein' put down."

I just close my eyes. "You have to understand," I begin, looking at him desperately. "Remember what you told me? You said you'd do _anything_ for your brother—that's exactly what I did."

"What do you mean?" Savannah asks gently.

"I mean revenge," I say. "They told me Optimus Prime and Ratchet killed you, and that I could finally have revenge."

"Fool," Ironhide grates.

"You have to understand," I beg again. "I had _nothing_ else. Sideswipe—you get it, don't you? You said there's no greater pain than losing a twin—remember?"

All eyes are on him now, waiting for his response. He just shakes his head. "I wouldn't betray my friends," he says.

"I _never_ betrayed you," I say fiercely. "When I got here—I started to see that you weren't _cruel_. And he told me that _he_ was an Autobot, and that _you_ were Decepticons, and—"

"Scum!" Ironhide bellows.

"I was confused," I continue. "I don't know what's right and what's wrong—but I _never_ betrayed you. I _lied_ for you!"

I wait for this to sink in, but it doesn't. Savannah keeps rubbing my back. All I want, now, is to be alone with him. I turn my face into his neck and he wipes at my tears, since I can't do it for myself.

"Parker," Lennox says very seriously. "Stop. I need you to start from the _beginning_. From the first day you spent with the Decepticons."

I take a deep breath, my chest aching. I want to be left alone. I want to disappear. But I know that it's impossible now. Nothing will be the same again. But I tell them my story—the _truth_, leaving nothing out. They all look completely disgusted with me. Even Bumblebee looks like he wants nothing to do with me anymore by the time I've finished. In the end, Lennox decides to have guards on me at all times while they decide what to do with me. Savannah promises to protect me, no matter what.

I've told them about how Megatron can contact me and listen in at any time, and this makes them furious. I tell them I can't take out the earrings, that it's impossible. Ironhide, I know, wants me dead, and Mudflap does too, I'm sure. But I'm not sure where Optimus stands. He hasn't looked at me once. He's still seething, clearly. Each of them had their own questions, all of which I'd answered. By the time I'm done, I know there's no way any of these relationships are reparable. And it hurts, but at least I have my brother back.

"I hate them," I conclude. "I was stupid. I didn't know. But they lied and _I hate them_. They took me from you. They kept us apart," I say this to Savannah.

"I'm not letting you go," he says.

"Why not?" Ironhide growls. "I say we send her back to them and let them deal with her. She has no information to give—"

"Ironhide," Lennox says, "we aren't cruel."

"They're her '_family,_'" he mocks. "Let them handle her."

"We aren't sending her back to them," Savannah growls. "I'm not losing her again."

I'm too busy watching Optimus to care about Ironhide's reaction. He's still looking angry, still looking betrayed, and he still won't look at me. I don't know how to tell him how sorry I am, but I can't stop trying.

"Optimus," I say, and my brother stops speaking to look at me. "Optimus, I'm _so sorry_."

"Because you were discovered," he growls.

"_No_. Because I knew you were hurting—and I wanted to tell you—"

"Enough," he says sharply, fixing me with a horrible glare before turning his back.

* * *

><p><em><span>Savannah<span>_

I can't believe she's here, and now that she is, I'm not letting her out of my sight. She's changed so much, but it doesn't matter. She's still my sister; she's still Parker, with her kind heart, with her good intentions, even if they can't see it in her. I can.

I can see how much it hurts her when the big man turns his back on her. I've always liked the guy, but right now, seeing the hurt on her face—which she does try to hide—I can't help but hate him a little bit. I've always thought of 'Hide as a bit of a trigger-happy asshole, but I've never had a personal problem with him until today. And the moronic twins—I wonder what her relationship was with them. Something in Mudflap's face, the hurt there, seems personal.

"It's okay," I tell her. "We'll figure this out."

Her eyes are fierce as she looks up at me, and I pull her a little closer. I'm afraid that if I stop touching her she'll vanish. Seeing her clutched in 'Hide's palm earlier had been one of the most terrifying moments of my life. I had just found her again, and he'd had a cannon aimed at her. Remembering it makes me angry all over again, so I try just to focus on her, on my twin sister, on my other half.

All of a sudden, my other half goes rigid against me. I look at her face, and her eyes are wide, wild with rage. Her tears have stopped. Her upper lip curls, and the expression is one I've never seen on her face before. It's terrifying, and I wonder where she learned to make faces like that. That wrath—it doesn't belong on my loving sister. I don't understand what's going on, but a split second later the expression is gone, so quickly I may have imagined it, and she looks desperate.

"Shh!" she hisses desperately, her voice wavering. "Everyone _shut up_—"

She rubs her ear against her shoulder; her hands are still cuffed behind her back. For a moment no one listens to her but me. I'm watching her intently. But before I can ask her what's going on, she speaks.

"_Megatron_," she says, and it sounds like a greeting, albeit an irritated one. Silently, I have to get everyone else to shut up so that he doesn't hear them. And from what I gathered of her story, he _can_ hear us. 'Hide goes silent, but he looks like he wants to rip her to shreds.

It's incredible, watching the change in her. Her small, uneven sobs have quieted, and when one does come she manages to choke it back down. Her face, though considerably paler, is set and cold, and her _voice_—it's so cold, so bitter, so _wrong _on her.

"_Yes_, you're interrupting," she drawls at him. "No—I _was_ in the middle of a meeting. No. They're discussing _battle plans_. No, I need to get back—_so I can tell you_. No, you can't _listen_! Because! Whenever you listen, they pick up on it. _I don't know_ how. They're robots for Christ's sake; they probably pick up on the frequency. _Meg—Megs!_ Please. I have to go. Yes. _Yes_. No, of course not. Yes, I remember what Starscream did. I have a lot to tell you—_later_. Contact me in about an hour. Maybe more. Okay. Yes."

Her face is still for a moment before her body relaxes against me.

"He's gone," she murmurs, and then there's a roar of chaos, mostly from an angry Ironhide and Lennox. Parker looks like she's just trying to tone it all out. Have they _missed_ it? Did they miss what she said?

"Sir!" I call, addressing Lennox, who looks at me, quieting Ironhide. "Sir, did you hear what she _said?_"

"Battle plans," 'Hide grunts.

"She _lied_, sir," I say, almost imploringly. "She _lied_ to him. She—" I turn to her, suddenly confused. Why hadn't she told him that she knew he was a liar?

"What?" she scoffs, suddenly looking irritated. "I'm _not_ an idiot. I'm not going to burn my bridges yet. I might need somewhere to go." But there's a look of disgust on her face, and I know that Megatron is the last person she would ever run to.

"You would return to them?" The big man, Optimus Prime is addressing her now. I can't understand the look of betrayal on his face; that almost seems personal, too. But she doesn't answer him. She just takes a deep breath, then looks up at me again.

"What will you tell him?" I ask her, keeping my voice gentle. "When he calls you again. What're you gonna say?"

"I'll think of something," she replies, her voice only slightly sarcastic.

"Okay," Lennox says suddenly and urgently. "I need to go—talk to people. Next time he calls you, we're all going to hear it, understand?" She nods. "Keep an eye on her," he says, then gives me a stern look. "You are to keep her here. That's an _order_, soldier."

"Yes, sir," I say, but it's hard not to glare at him. Rubbing his eyes and muttering to himself, he walks away. I don't think I've ever seen him look so completely stressed out, but I can't bring myself to care too much. I stand and offer to help my sister up, but she just gives me a small, competitive grin and gets to her feet herself, hands still chained behind her back. I guide her over to some crates where we sit, but everyone is still watching us.

I hug her again, long and hard, glad that I've managed to stop crying—not that I was really _crying_. I inhale her scent, but it's different from what I remember. She used to smell like peach body wash and some citrusy shampoo—now she smells like motor oil and sweat and plain soap and rain. I rub her back soothingly, still unable to believe it.

"So the 'Cons had you, huh?" I ask her.

"Yeah," she says in a raspy, throaty voice. I raise an eyebrow at her.

"What's up with you voice?" I ask. "That's like an eight-pack-a-day voice. You take up smoking?"

"No," she rolls her eyes and then leans her head back, exposing her throat. I notice a pale, thick scar, one that contrasts with her dark skin. "The accident. Some glass got me."

"They took you," I tell her again.

"They told me they went back for you," she says, and it's like a question. I shake my head and she closes her eyes, dipping her head slightly. "They told me they rescued me, and then, when they went back for you, Ratchet had killed you."

I actually have to laugh at this. "Ratchet's bitter sometimes, but he saved my life, Park. He's a good guy." And then I sigh. "I can't believe you thought the Autobots were the _bag guys_."

She glares at me, but there's no real animosity behind it. "What would you have thought? Megatron told me they killed you. I didn't know any different. And then he told me I could come back here and get my revenge…" She trails off. "It sounds so stupid now."

"It's okay," I tell her. "Do you want to know the worst part? I knew you were here, the whole time. Lennox told us all that you were staying here for your safety. But he said your name was Carmen, of course. I never thought to come find you."

"You had no reason to," she sighs, shaking her head. "This is all so insane. I can't believe it. They took two years of my life away."

"What changed?" I ask her. I'm aware that everyone else is listening, but it feels like it's just us, just me and my sister, the way it needs to be. "You said you hated them _so much, _but you said it changed. What happened?"

She looks thoughtful for a moment. "I started to realize that they weren't cruel like Megs—Megatron had said they were." She starts. "And then I slept with Optimus… and I think that's when I _really_ realized they were okay. He was… gentle, you know? And kind. And I knew—what's _wrong_?"

I can't form a coherent thought. I feel like I might have a heart attack. There has to be something wrong here, some sort of misunderstanding, some sort of miscommunication—

* * *

><p><em><span>Parker<span>_

Savannah looks like he's about to have a heart attack, or like he might be sick or pass out or any combination of the above. I nudge him with my shoulder.

"Savannah," I urge, "what's wrong? What did I say?" I notice that there's dead silence all around me; even the bots have all frozen, staring.

"You—you slept with—like, _slept with_—Optimus?"

"What? _No!_" I gasp. "No, I mean I slept _with_ him, like _inside_ him, like as a truck! _Jesus Christ_, Savannah!"

He just stares at me. "You couldn't have thought of a better way to word that?" He demands, but there's a quirk in his lips and laughter behind his eyes. We stare at each other for another second before we both start laughing. He has my laugh. God, I love the sound of his laugh. I've missed it so much, and I'll do _anything_ to be able to keep hearing it.

I can't help but notice how _good_ we sound laughing together. His laugh is lower than mine, but it's also the _same_. They complement each other. I'd forgotten how wrong my laugh sounded without his right there with it. I notice, faintly, that Optimus Prime is grumbling something about _poor communication_, but I don't have the energy or the will to pay attention.

Savannah lets out a small, breathless giggle, which makes me giggle, too. It doesn't matter that we're both twenty years old. Right now, we're acting like freshman boys, giggling about the prospect of sex.

"You said he was gentle," Savannah giggles breathlessly, his words so faint that I _hope_ none of the bots heard. I giggle too, sounding just like him, happy for the laughter that makes my stomach ache—but in a good way. I don't want to cry anymore.

"God, I've missed you," I tell him for the millionth time today, nuzzling his shoulder. He tugs a strand of my hair with a sigh.

"They tried to tell me that the accident—that Megatron—because I saw him, you know? I saw him transform. They tried to tell me that it was all a hallucination. I didn't believe them. I knew it was real." He rubs the back of his neck, serious again. "I joined the military as soon as I could, fought to be in NEST."

"Why?"

"They took you," he says, bumping my forehead with his. "You think I'd let them just take you? No. I planned on killing Megatron myself."

My blood runs cold at the thought.

"I want you to stay far, _far_ away from him, do you understand me?" I tell him urgently. "He'll _kill_ you—"

"Your lack of faith wounds me," he says, kissing my forehead again. "Don't worry about that now. I'll kill him later."

"You have me back," I tell him. "Just stay _away_ from him—"

"P," he says, using one of his many old nicknames for me, "he took you away from me, he hurt you, he imprisoned and brainwashed you for two years. That ain't gonna fly."

I groan. I know that arguing with him is senseless and won't get me anywhere, so I let it drop—for now.

"You joined a war for me?" I ask him instead, my eyes watering. He pokes my forehead with a finger.

"You joined the _Decepticons_ for _me_?" He says, grinning a mischievous grin. "I'd do anything for you. You know that."

I glance carefully up from his eyes and look at Sideswipe and Mudflap. Sideswipe, at least, is the only one who just looks conflicted, rather than hateful. I smile and look back at my brother.

"Sav," I say, "I'd go back to living with the Decepticons if it meant keeping you sage. And it wasn't _all_ bad. I got some decent training."

He scoffs. "Yeah, so I guess the abuse was worth it, right?"

I give him a look. "Can we _not_ talk about this now?"

He nods, giving me a huge, toothy grin. He's so _happy_ right now, which only makes me happier. I want to tell him _I love you_ again, I want to tell him that I've missed him so much again, that I'll do anything now that I have him back, if only I can keep him. But I don't say any of these things. I just sigh contentedly, glad that the tears have finally ebbed. I can't even feel angry about having to talk to Megatron later. I'll cross _that_ bridge when I reach it.

I rest my head against my brother's shoulder, and he rests his head on top of mine, slipping one of his hands behind my back to hold my cuffed ones. I'm losing feeling in my fingers, but I don't care. If it makes them feel safe, and if it lets me be around Savannah, I'll take it for the rest of my life.

For a moment we're all quiet. The bots have, for the most part, shifted back into their car forms. Today is going to be a long day, I know, and I don't know how I'll ever get through it. But I'll find a way. With Savannah at my side, I feel like I can conquer anything—even Megatron.

The thought of Optimus and the others hating me still hurts, though, and I wish more than anything that I could undo it. But I can't ask for too much at once, I know. I have Savannah back. I'll fix things with Optimus.

They're all parked in a circle around us, with three soldiers spaced evenly between them, making it clear that there's no way I can escape. Not that I'd want to. I have _no_ intention of leaving.

It seems like no time at all has passed when Lennox returns, a hard, cold look on his face when he looks at me. He takes me by the arm, much to my brother's annoyance, and leads me up the stairs, past the raised platform, and to a bunch of computers and huge screens that the bots can see.

"Am I the only one who thinks she might actually be a valuable asset," Ironhide asks Lennox as we go. He's fiddling with something on the computers, keeps checking my earrings, talking to the computer geeks.

"What do you mean?" I ask Ironhide, but he gives me a deadly look.

"She's a direct link to the Decepticons," he says, ignoring me. "She knows where Megatron is hiding. We can use her."

Lennox looks thoughtful. "You're right," he says, "but it's unethical. We can't put a human life at risk—"

"I'll do it," I pipe up immediately. "Lennox, I'll do it. I _can_ do it. I want that asshole dead _just _as much as anyone else here."

Ironhide makes a hateful sound, leaning against the railing designed to keep humans from falling off. Optimus is standing beside him. All at once, a heated debate starts, all of them discussing the ethicality of Ironhide's plan. They don't seem to care that I think I can do it. My brother just wants to keep me safe. Ironhide wants me in the line of fire, and Lennox and Optimus are both torn.

"She's nothing more than a treacherous little worm," Ironhide rumbles.

"She is human," Optimus counters. "We cannot put a human life at stake."

"Let me do it," I say fiercely. "Lennox—_please_. Let me prove it to you. I can _help_."

But they have no more time to consider. My earrings crackle, and I gasp, "_He's here_," a moment before I hear his voice. All at once everyone goes silent, and the computer geeks work furiously to connect to the signal. Within seconds they have it, and Megatron's voice is not only in my ear, but sounding around me. The computer screens are going berserk.

"_What have you discovered, my bird?"_ he growls. I immediately slip into the role of old Parker, of his bird. I look only at Lennox—I can't stand to see the expressions that may be on Optimus's or Savannah's faces. This will be the first time they've hear him speak to me.

Lennox gives me a look and makes a snap decision, his face conflicted. "We are at war," he tells himself. "This is a war." And then he looks at me. "Tell him you need to see him."

"I need to see you," I say, and Megatron growls.

"_Is that necessary?_"

"Yes," I say, trying to block out the anger. I want to scream at him, to tell him that I know, that I know _everything_. But I can't. If I do, we won't be able to bring him down.

"_Why?"_

Lennox doesn't offer my any help this time. So I give Megatron a sigh, cracking my neck. "I—Megs… I'm _sorry_," I breathe. "You were right this whole time. They—they're assholes."

"_What has happened, child? Tell me."_ He makes his voice low and gentle, but now that I know the truth, I can tell he's just manipulating me, just playing a game. It makes me so angry. I stare blankly ahead.

"I don't know," I mumble. "Ever since Skids—they've been treating me—_differently_. They're not who I thought they were."I take a deep breath. "I'm so sorry I doubted you. That was stupid."

"_It was_," he agrees, and I swallow.

"Megatron," I tell him, "I am asking for your forgiveness."

"_You have it,"_ he croons. _"Do not worry about them. We will take them out soon enough, you and I. Now; what did you discover?"_

"Can I please see you?" I ask him. "I need to—to _know_. I don't feel right, and I won't, not until I've seen you again. I just need to see you."

He sighs, an exasperated, annoyed sound. But he won't snap at me now, not since he thinks I'm back on his side, 100%. He'll keep up the kind, caring ruse if he thinks it will keep me working for him. And he knows I won't give him any information until I've seen him; we both have this way of manipulating each other, and sometimes it works beautifully.

"_Fine,"_ he says. _"When is the soonest you can escape?"_

"As soon as you want me to. I'll figure something out."

"_Very well,"_ he says grudgingly, and I can tell he's furious. I smirk. I've got him. He won't dare be cruel, not now, not when he thinks I have something important to tell him that could be lost if he snaps at me.

"You won't regret it," I promise him. "What I have to tell you—you're going to love it."

"_I had better,"_ he growls. _"You know better than to waste my time with foolishness. I will meet you tomorrow at sunset."_ And then he gives me coordinates, because he knows I can figure them out, before growling, _"Do not disappoint me, my bird."_ And then he disconnects.

The screens seem to flat line as the nerds confirm that he's gone, truly disconnected. Lennox is staring hard at me, rubbing his forehead, like he can't believe the decision he just made. My brother is furious.

"This is a joke," he says. "Sir, you can't be serious. You _can't _send her out there!"

"This is a war," he says again, "sometimes we need to do things that are—unorthodox—"

"Unorthodox," Savannah mocks, then turns to me. "I'll go with you—"

"No you won't—"

Another argument ensues, and by the end of it, nothing has been decided. Lennox finally looks at me, his gaze cold and flat.

"You are a prisoner," he tells me. "You have lost our trust. You will be guarded at all times and restrained at all times—"

"I know."

He nods, then pulls me up by the front of my tank top, which is still a little damp. He spins me around and unlocks one of my cuffs before re-cuffing me, this time with my hands in front of my body. He's still shaking his head slightly, like he can't believe what's going on around him. All I can think is _What have I done?_

"I'm sorry," I tell them again once Lennox lets me go, and Ironhide just makes an annoyed sound. Optimus won't look at me, still, and my brother squeezes one of my hands.

There's really nothing left to say. Savannah rubs my arm. _Savannah_. I still can't believe he's here with me, after two years of believing him dead. I turn into him and rest my head in his shoulder again, and he just holds me. After a while he guides me down the stairs and we hang out in the hangar, not saying much. I can tell he's angry, and when he's angry, he doesn't like to be pressed. So, instead, I just let him hold me, both of us still confirming that the other is real.

"Park," he says after a while. "I'll figure something out, okay? I won't let them treat you like this. I'll keep you safe."

"I know," I tell him, swallowing the iron lump in my throat. "I know."

I spot something on the ground, and when I focus on it, I know what it is, and it hurts. Too much. Much, much more than it should. I tell myself that it was an accident—it could have fallen out while he transformed, right? I don't know if I believe it. But, laying there on the floor, slightly damp and wrinkled is the drawing I had given to Optimus.

* * *

><p><strong>LONGNESS OMG. This one was definitely the longest yet. Almost 14 full pages! Anyways, I hope it didn't let you down! Started off crazy and dramatic, then settled down, which I like. Hmm… well, I guess I'm just curious to see how you all felt about it.<strong>

**And Oh! How many of you thought it was Savannah who called her name at the end of the last chapter? Was anyone surprised?**

**Leave me reviews, tell me how you felt! The more I get, the faster I'll write. And just so you know—Optimus and Parker have a fight in the next chapter. :)**


	13. Chapter 13

**NOTE: More POV switching here. I'm so glad I brought Savannah back. He allows me to write about things that would otherwise be left out—like when Parker's sleeping. Savannah takes over telling the story for a bit, and you get another look at Parker before the accident. You also kind of get to see, from Savannah's eyes, just how badly he thinks she was treated while living with Megatron.**

**This chapter is SORT OF a filler, but I really LOVE the interaction between Parker and Starscream. She's so evil. :3**

**I also wanted to thank everyone for all the amazing, positive feedback I got on the last chapter. I feel so successful! I've been too busy to reply to all of you, but I just wanted to thank you SO MUCH.**

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 13<span>

I can_not_ believe this. We've been together for, what, a few hours? And already he's trying his hardest to bother me like always. I'm sitting on a crate, staring out at nothing, and he's sitting beside me. Every few minutes he pops his lips loudly, making me jump the tiniest bit. I don't say anything to him about it, but every time I jump I see him grin mischievously.

_Pop_.

I start. Again. Savannah's mouth quirks. I fold my chained hands beneath my chin and curl my legs up, staring straight ahead. My stomach is churning. How long until I have to meet Megatron? Hours, only hours. I don't know what I'm going to do when it's time—

_Pop_.

I jump and snap my head to the side to glare at him. "Knock it off," I growl. He smirks.

"What're you gonna do about it?" he taunts. "You're handcuffed."

"I can still take you out, you twit."

This earns a loud, deep laugh from him. Arrogant little jerk. I elbow him sharply and he yelps, then swats my head with his large hand, knocking me off the crate.

It's just like old times, like we haven't been separated for two years, and I love it—even if I am annoyed that I'm laid out on the cold ground, staring up at him as he laughs from his safe spot on the crate. I roll over, positioning my hands beneath me, and stagger to my feet, flipping my wild hair out of my face. I shoot him a dirty look as I adjust my tank, which has dried, but is hanging sort of limply from my soft body.

The Autobots are still gathered in a circle around me, something like sentinels. They're making me nervous, admittedly, and the only ones who have left are Ratchet and Mudflap. The ones who remain are intimidating enough, though, and when paired with the three soldiers, I really do feel like a prisoner. I look away from them darkly, hating the feeling. My handcuffs clank loudly, only enforcing the idea in my head that I _am_ a prisoner.

I wonder if they'll ever trust me again. I wonder what the plan is for later today. I'm exhausted. I know that, if I want to face Megatron, I need to sleep. I walk back over to the crate and Savannah helps me back up. I curl myself against him, nuzzling his shoulder playfully.

"I'm tired," I mumble. He strokes my curly hair gently, playfulness gone.

"You've had a hard day, P," he says. "Go to sleep."

He curls an arm around me and I lean on him. "Don't leave me," I murmur. "I mean it, Savannah. Please don't leave."

He blinks quickly and swallows, and I know that he's suddenly trying not to cry. I give him a soft smile. "I'm not going anywhere," he says, then leans back, stretching out on the crate, his long legs dangling over the edge. He stretches out one arm and I lay back beside him, resting my head on his shoulder and curling up beside him. I breathe in his scent again, warm and familiar and comforting. With him here, I know I can sleep. I know I'll be safe. I can ignore the angry robots watching me, I can block out the world; I have my brother back.

* * *

><p><span>Savannah<span>

She falls asleep in only a few minutes; I feel the tension leave her body as soon as she slips into unconsciousness. I hope she doesn't drool on me; she's always been a drooler. I glance down at her face, and right then, in sleep, she looks less like the old Parker than ever.

That thing they say about people looking younger in their sleep is complete bullshit. Or at least it is in my experience. But I've seen Parker sleeping before; I'm familiar with her sleeping face. She's never looked younger before, and she doesn't look younger now. But, before, she never slept with a scowl. Even in her sleep, her brow is slightly furrowed, and there's a serious set to her mouth. I remember how she used to sleep, her eyebrows set high, eyelids flickering, looking like she might wake up and start laughing at any given moment, with her mouth hanging open.

Her sleep doesn't look restful; it looks _practiced_.

I rub her shoulder gently, all too aware of the new strength there. Park's always been strong for a girl, but _this_… this is different. She's stronger now, hardened, and even when she smiles there's a seriousness in her face that I'm not sure anyone else notices. Maybe she doesn't even notice it. But I'm her twin, I'm her mirror image; it's my job to notice these things.

Looking at her now, serious even in her sleep, I can't help but think that this girl sleeping against me isn't the same girl I used to know. She's in there, no doubt; the same silly Parker, but she's also a warrior now, colder, trained. I sigh and my breath stirs the short curls dangling in her face. Her nose wrinkles delicately and she mumbles at me, and I grin. I blow gently in her face again, and she gives me the same reaction.

I know she still draws, but I wonder if she still sings and dances. She's got a terrible voice, of course, but she used to make up songs about _anything_. I used to remember being so annoyed every night when she would shower, because she had this damned stupid song she would screech about showering. It had been the same song for years, and going two years without hearing it had driven me nearly insane. I'd started to sing it, just to ease the ache. I'd give anything to hear her sing it again, as horrible as that stupid song is.

And she liked to dance with mops and brooms; I caught her once. Mom had left us home alone and had ordered us to clean the kitchen. So, naturally, I'd beat Parker up until she agreed to do the job; she was older, by three minutes, but I was stronger. She's plugged her iPod into her ears and tuned me out. A while later, as she'd been mopping, I'd gone into the kitchen to bother her with my dirty feet—and to tell her to _stop singing_. I'd discovered her, mop in hand, dancing around the kitchen, using the handle as a mic, singing to _Do You Wanna Touch Me_ by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts.

I'd never let her live it down.

Of course, once she'd realized she'd been caught, she's started singing _at_ me. We'd had so many dance competitions in that kitchen, from the time we were kids up until the day before I lost her.

I glance down at her face again as she tucks one of her hands against my shoulder, near her face. I've missed her so much. I want this all to be over. I want to take her home and force her to sing me the shower song. I want her to sing _Do You Wanna Touch Me_. I want her to be sarcastic and goofy and embarrassing. I want her to be _Parker_ again, not Megatron's little pet.

Remembering their conversation makes me furious. _My bird?_ What was that about? Was I the _only_ one who'd been bothered by it? I stare up at the high ceiling of the hangar, trying not to think about what Lennox will be making her do later. If I think about it too much, I'll get angry and do something stupid, and that's the _last_ thing anyone wants.

A half hour has passed, maybe, since Parker fell asleep. The Autobots seem to relax slightly, and the soldiers' hard faces slack ever so slightly. Stupid, they're _all_ being stupid. This is _Parker_ they're guarding. None of them know her like I do, and I know she wouldn't hurt anyone, especially not people she cares about—or robots she cares about, for that matter. Sure, she'd wanted to destroy them in the beginning, but I _knew_ she'd been telling the truth when she'd said it had all changed—when she'd slept with the Optimus Prime, no less.

The thought of it still makes me laugh softly, careful not to wake her. I know she needs her rest. I wonder what Lennox is doing, what kind of preparations he's making. I want to know how we'll keep her _safe_ when she does to see Megatron. He can't be trusted. I know he'll hurt her. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but eventually it'll happen. You don't work _with_ or _for_ Megatron. He uses you, and then you end up dead.

I can't let that happen to Parker.

I wonder what she went through in these past two years. I haven't brought it up, but whenever she shifts or bends over and her shirt comes up, I notice scars—scars that hadn't been there before. There are some that are relatively fresh, and I know they probably came from the Starscream attack; puncture wounds in her side, presumably from where he had picked her up.

I glance at her face, making sure she's still asleep. Carefully, very carefully, I shift and roll over on my side, keeping my one arm still under her head. Slowly I grab the hem of her top and lift it, sliding it up her dark skin, getting a good look at the old scars underneath.

"What are you doing?"

I jump violently, swearing; Optimus Prime and Sideswipe are standing over us, watching me carefully. Optimus had spoken.

"Nothing," I tell them, shifting guiltily. "I was just…"

I turn back to face her; her eyebrows are scrunched up, her nose wrinkled again. Glancing back at the gigantic robots I decide to ignore them and lift her shirt again. They're there; ever so faintly, almost invisible, they're there; the scars that look like old punctures. And, very near them, the fresher ones. They don't go deep, thank God. One of her hips is dark, almost blackish, a mix of purple and red hues.

"What did they do to you, P?" I ask her, knowing she'll never tell me the truth. But at the sound of my voice her eyes snap open—I'm startled, because she used to sleep like the dead. I drop her shirt and jerk back.

"Jesus Christ!" she yelps, shoving away from me. "Don't _do_ that! What the hell are you _doing?_"

She sits up on the crate, running her hands over her face and snapping her neck. She starts again when she notices the two robots standing over us, and her eyes narrow dangerously when Optimus turns away and transforms back into a car, rejoining the circle. Then her eyes flicker to Sideswipe. The look on her face is almost pleading. She gives him the softest, barest of smiles and a tiny shrug before he just blinks and turns away, transforming into the silver Corvette.

Okay, what the hell was _that_ about?

Parker climbs off the crate, landing on her feet and stretching luxuriously. Her nap lasted maybe an hour, tops. She hadn't had nearly enough rest. She arches her back in an almost catlike fashion, chained arms stretched above her head, and I notice a couple of the soldiers _watching_. I give them hard looks and they look away quickly, immediately adopting blank faces.

I roll my eyes and jump down off the crate, slinging an arm protectively over her shoulders. She smiles at me and bumps me with her good hip. It's hard to think about, but she looks more _womanly_ than ever; a soft, hourglass figure, wide hips… and after noticing the way the soldiers looked at her, I do _not_ want to think about the job I'm going to have. _No one_ should be looking at my sister like that. She's Parker. She's gross and annoying and butch and she can burp like a trucker. I'll have to tell them this. I'm just glad I don't have to worry about keeping the robots off her; _that_ could be awkward.

* * *

><p><span>Parker<span>

It's nearly sunset; time to go. Lennox has suited me up with neat spy stuff; a camera that will allow them to see what's going on around me and an earpiece so they can hear and talk to me.

"Wow," I grin, "I feel like a super-_duper_-spy now." Lennox doesn't look amused, and the smile slips from my face. It's going to be hard to repair this relationship, now that I've lost his trust. "Lennox," I try again, "I'm _sorry_."

"Save it," he says sharply. I bite my lip. Savannah gives me a tight, encouraging smile.

I'm going out today to _prove_ to them that Megatron is here and not hiding. This is a test; that's all. I'll feed him some false information, tell him, maybe, that Optimus Prime was wounded and is weak, providing him with an opening of some sort. I know he'll love to hear this, but I know he won't attack yet. He's buying his time.

They've decided that I'll be driving _myself_ to the location; they're not going to risk an Autobot, in case I'm leading them into a trap of some sort. I know it makes sense, but I can't help but feel a little annoyed. This is good, though. I don't want to risk one of them being caught, either, and I would have insisted on driving myself, anyway. But I guess the fact that they didn't offer me any protection hurts.

Savannah's furious about it, of course, but he doesn't have any say whatsoever. We're all in the hangar, gathered around a small black car. Lennox unlocks the cuffs on my wrists, and I'm shockingly excited to be free. But there's one thing I don't understand.

"What if I don't come back?" I ask Lennox. "What if I decide to run?"

Lennox just glances at my brother, then back at me. He knows. "You won't."

"I know," I say. "I just wasn't sure if _you_ knew."

"Get in the car."

"Wait." My brother steps forward, his face hard, jaw clenched. He swallows hard. He looks _so angry_. "You listen to me, Parker Roman Rook," he says, and I cringe at the sound of my full name—a total boy's name, a name that should have been _his_. I want to call him _Savannah Jade Rook_, which should have been my name, but I don't. I just stare intently into his eyes. "You come back to me," he says, and has to stop to clear his throat. He places one large hand on top of my head. "Understand? Don't do anything stupid. And if he hurts you—you _run_. Okay? _Run_."

"I'll run," I lie. Then, honestly, "I'll come back to you, Anna." He groans and rolls his eyes at one of my more embarrassing nicknames for him—there are tons more. He pushes my head down and I duck under his hand, trying to smile through the fear bubbling up in me. Then he catches my shoulder and pulls me into a firm, spine-crushing hug, one that I return, squeezing him with all my might.

"I can't believe they're doing this," he murmurs.

"It's okay," I tell him. "I know Megatron. He's not going to hurt me, not now."

"I hope you're right. I'll kill you if you're not right."

_If Megatron doesn't kill me first_, but I don't say it. There's nothing left to say, so he lets me go grudgingly and I get in the car. Lennox gives me another cold look before the hangar opens and the Autobots drive around me, leading me out. We're almost at the main road when Sideswipe _cuts me off_. I slam on the brakes and lay on the horn—I don't know why. Instinct, maybe. But everyone else around me comes to a sharp halt, kicking up dust. I roll down my window.

"Uh," I call out to the silver Corvette in front of me. "Dude. What gives?"

The Corvette transforms and leans over my little black car.

"Get out," he says, and I swallow nervously, confused, and obey. I give him a questioning look. He looks deeply conflicted before, without a word, he transforms again. The driver's door springs open and he flashes his headlights at me. "Get in."

"No," I say, at the same time Ironhide says, "Sideswipe, what are you _doing?_"

"Just get in," Sideswipe says.

"I'm not going to put you in danger," I murmur, shaking my head. "No."

He revs his engine angrily. "I won't be in danger. Just _get in._"

I hesitate before climbing carefully into the car. He closes the door. Optimus's voice rings through us.

"Sideswipe," he says, "what in the name of Cybertron are you doing?"

"I'm just going to drive her _close_," he says patiently. "Then I'll drop her off. Megatron will never know I'm there."

And then they lapse into a private conversation that I can't hear, something between only them. A few moments later, Sideswipe starts driving and I give him the directions Lennox gives me.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask him after a few minutes.

"I don't think you should go alone."

"But why did _you_ volunteer?"

He is silent for a little while. Then, "I don't know. I despise you. Optimus taking you, too, but I beat him to the punch."

"Well… thanks."

He just grunts.

It takes a while, but Sideswipe drops me off at a corner about ten minutes away from the place where I'm supposed to meet Megatron. Sunset is close, so I run, still following Lennox's guidance. When I finally arrive, winded, I discover that we're meeting at an old, empty parking structure. It's definitely a sketchy place, and, as I climb the stairs to the top (the elevators are broken) I spot a group of guys on one of the levels. They don't exactly look like upstanding citizens, and my feminine instincts kick in: _Don't make eye contact, keep walking, ignore, ignore, ignore_…

They spot me, of course, and whistle at me. I swallow and keep walking. They sort of trail after me, laughing, and I know they're only trying to scare me, but my heart is hammering.

"Hey, pretty," one calls. "Where you been all my life?"

"Hiding from _you_," I drawl, rolling my eyes, sounding a lot tougher than I feel. Funny; I can stand up to alien robots, but these human men have me edgy. "Keep it in your pants, hotshot."

His friends all laugh at him and I keep walking; they follow me up the stairs. One of them grabs at me, his fingers snagging in my shirt.

"_Dude_," I say warningly, fists clenched. "Now is _so_ not the time."

"Relax, girl," one says in an oozing voice. "He's just playing."

I turn around and keep walking up the stairs, taking them two at a time. "_Lennox_," I breathe, my voice catching. Then, a moment later—"Knock it off, asshole!" I snarl, "Touch me one more time and I'll beat your ass, got it?"

One of them whistles, grinning. There are four of them. They don't look _threatening_—just stupid. I doubt they mean any real harm, but they're scaring me and pissing me off. One of them laughs.

"Keep walking," Lennox says, "don't engage them. And _don't_ run. They're like dogs; run and they'll give chase."

_It's hard not to run,_ I want to snarl at him, but I don't. I keep walking up another flight of stairs, nearly at the top now, and I'm getting really _sick_ of this game. One of them snags at my hand, catching it in his sweaty fingers, and I spin around with a startled shriek. He grins at me, a sickly-sweet smile.

"You have _three_ seconds to let me go," I hiss, my heart pounding. "Three—"

"You got a boyfriend?"

"Two—"

"Tell me your name."

I punch him in the face, _hard_, and feel his nose crack against my fist. Blood gushes, dribbling on my shirt as I knee him in the groin. He releases me and falls to the ground and I take off, sprinting up the stairs. They don't follow; they're too shocked and too busy looking after their buddy. Gasping, heart pounding, I finally make it to the open, upper level of the parking structure.

"Are you okay?" Lennox asks as I wipe at the blood on my shirt. The concern in his voice is fatherly, and I think about his daughter.

"Yeah," I say. "Fine."

I glance around the empty lot, looking for any sign of Megatron, but I find nothing. The rain has stopped, thankfully, but there's a chill in the air. I shiver slightly and my teeth give a quick, sharp chatter as I wrap my arms around my body. Within only a couple of seconds I hear the familiar sound, the high, screaming wail: Starscream is here.

I glance up at the sky and see him approaching, transforming in midair to land on the structure feet in front of me, causing the whole thing to tremble.

"What're you doing here?" I ask. "Where's Megatron?"

"Otherwise engaged," he hisses. "He sent me, instead."

I roll my eyes. Of course. He must know something's up, then. He wouldn't risk losing this information, but he also wouldn't risk his own life, which is why he sent Starscream. Poor, sniveling Starscream.

"Lucky me," I drawl, rolling my eyes and slumping my weight onto one hip. "Do you _ever_ get tired of being his bitch, Screams?" He snarls at me, his eyes deadly. "Is that a no?" I ask, taunting him. This is now we normally interact, how we always treat each other. "Just wondering." I shrug, kicking a piece of concrete.

"Silence," he says in his grating voice. "Tell me what you know."

"Are you Megatron?" I ask him. "No. Didn't think so. I'm supposed to give _Megatron_ this information, not Megatron's little _bitch_."

"Stop calling me that!" he shrieks.

"Careful," Lennox warns, "don't piss him off!" I ignore him. I've already got a plan. Starscream is easy to mess with; it's so easy to get inside his head.

"So you _don't_ get tired of being his errand boy?" I ask him. "I'd get tired of it. I mean, you do all the _real_ work, anyway, while Megatron sits safe and sound in his hidey-hole. You're okay with that?"

"He is my Lord," Starscream says, but the response is automatic. Already, he looks mildly interested in my words, as though he's _finally_ glad to have someone see the way he's feeling. I just shrug again, still kicking the piece of concrete.

"I mean," I go on, "he may as well make you leader already. You do more than he does. _You're_ the one always sticking your neck out."

"I am," Starscream mutters to himself, as though I can't hear him. He snatches me up in his talon-hangs, his claws finding purchase in my skin, very near the old holes. He holds me up to his face.

"It must be hard," I say, gritting my teeth through the pain; my voice is high. "Doing all the work and getting no _recognition_. But _I_ see it. I know you work hard."

"I _do_," he growls, his fingers tightening on me.

"Ow," I say. He ignores me, and I go on. "Lord Starscream," I say wistfully. "It has a nice ring. I'm not the only one thinking it, either. Barricade's always bitching about how Megatron never does _anything_ himself. And—" I gasp sharply as his fingers break my skin, like teeth biting into the skin on an apple. It _hurts_. I struggle to go on. "—and _Cade_ even said once, I swear he said it: '_Starscream may as well take over.'_ Didn't you take over while Megatron was gone? It was better that way."

He's really stupid, far too wrapped up in his own ambitions to see what I'm doing. As long as I tell him what he wants to hear, he'll lap it up. Starscream's biggest problem is his _need_ for recognition. He isn't loyal, not really; he's simply waiting around for an opportunity. He wants, more than anything, to be _Lord Starscream_.

"Don't tell him I said so," I warn Starscream. "He'll get suspicious. But I know the truth, Screams. You're _so_ overworked." He growls slowly, a thoughtful sound. I pat his hand, rub it gently, soothingly. "Anyway," I say after a few moments, hoping I've managed to evade his cruelty. Before I can continue, though, he drops me just for the hell of it. I fall a few feet and hit the concrete _hard_, shrieking on the way down.

"_Parker!_" My brother's voice is in my ear, distant, not as clear as Lennox's. I groan and get to my feet, but before I'm fully standing he snatches me up, tossing me lightly into the air before catching me.

"I have missed our games," he croons, flattening me on the ground an instant later with his foot.

"_Parker, get out of there,"_ my brother begs.

"Yeah," I grunt, "me too. They're _fun_."

He grabs me by my shirt, dangling me over the edge of the structure. My feet kick wildly as I hand on to his fingers, my nails scrabbling for holds.

"Starscream—_don't_—"

"Tell me what you know," he says, pretending to drop me for a second. I let out a scream of real, pure fear, sure I'm falling to my death before he brings me back, laughing.

"_Optimus!_" I scream, not for a moment doubting that he _will_ drop me. "_Optimus Prime!"_

"What about him?"

"He—he's _wounded_," I gasp, "weak. He's weak. If you want to kill him—now is the time—"

"Hmm…" He looks thoughtful for a second, still dangling me over the edge. Then he nods, pulling me close to his face. He stretches me between his two hands, one of my arms gripping in each. "How I would love," he croons, "to _end_ you."

"Do it," I dare him. "Megatron will _kill_ you."

"How's your friend, little _bird?_" He asks, spitting the word. I know he's talking about Skids, and it makes me furious. It's difficult to react the way I know_ should_. This whole situation is difficult. I should be furiously screaming at him for lying about my brother. I don't want to play this game again.

"You mean the twin?" I ask a moment later, dangling in front of his face. He pulls on my arms slowly; the joints pop. "He's fine. _Knock it off!_" I scream a moment later when one of my arms gives a deadly pop; pain explodes through my shoulder. He laughs and drops me again. I land on my feet and collapse, falling on my butt and cradling my arm, breathing heavily through the rage and fury.

"The stupid ones never die," he sighs, and I wonder if he's talking about me or Skids. "I'll finish him next time." I don't say anything. I have to bite my tongue to hold the angry stream back, but I say nothing. I let out a small gasp against the pain. "We are finished here," he says. "Keep in touch."

And then he transforms and takes off, leaving me alone on the parking structure.

"Shit," I hiss, getting to my feet as my arm throbs. I hope it's not dislocated. I stretch it out in front of my body, but it doesn't want to respond. I use my other arm to pull the muscles, but it just sort of tingles numbly. "Well, damn."

I glance at the dark sky, making sure Starscream is gone, and then brace myself for the walk back down to the ground, hoping I don't see those guys again. I'm relieved when all I see is a little blood, but there's no sign of the men. I walk back to where Sideswipe dropped me off; Lennox and Savannah are constantly speaking in my ear. Mostly Savannah, making sure I'm okay.

Sideswipe pulls up and I climb in the passenger side.

"You made it," he says, and sounds mildly surprised.

"Yep," I grunt.

"You alright?"

"It was Starscream. He likes to play with me, that's all."

"_Play_," Sideswipe spits, driving me back toward base, completely ignoring speed limits. He pauses, then: "Are you _bleeding?_"

"Oh, no," I moan. "Sorry! I can walk or something, I don't need to ruin the car—"

"It's fine," he grumbles. "Are you badly injured?"

"Nothing unusual," I say. "I'll survive."

My brother, however, doesn't seem to think so. He insists that I be patched up and have my arm looked at. It's not dislocated, thankfully, but it is slightly out of place. A doctor resets it and sends me on my way; I'm handcuffed again. I don't get so much as a thank you, but it's not like I expected one. I'm just going to follow orders from now on; if they need me to do something, I'll do it.

I've showered and cleaned myself up. It took a while to calm Savannah down—he was going out of his mind with worry about my injuries and about the men from the parking lot. I'm still being watched and monitored by guards, and they seem to think that the safest place for me is in the hangar, with the Autobots. None of them are speaking to me, not even Sideswipe.

I've gone outside to sit under the stars, just like every other night. But, tonight, I'm alone. My brother was ordered back to his quarters. The only ones near me are the three soldiers ordered to watch me through the night; I have no idea who they are, and they show no interest in introducing themselves. Finally, bored out of my mind, I go back inside the hangar.

The fact that they're still ignoring me hurts. What more do they _want_ from me? I pass Optimus and reach out both of my chained hands to rest my fingers on his grill tentatively. When he doesn't respond, I take it as a good sign and touch him more firmly.

"I don't know," I murmur, my voice tight and raspy. "What else I can do to make you see how sorry I am." I get no response. "Optimus?" I plead, but he says nothing. "Optimus, _please_—I care about you. Please don't do this." My throat is dangerously tight now, my eyes burning, threatening tears. I sniff and bite my lip, squeezing my eyes shut, refusing to let him see my cry. I wipe my damp eyes on my shoulder sleeve. "Come on," I whisper. "Just talk to me."

Nothing. I'm starting to get angry now.

"So, what, that's it? I make one mistake, and you're never going to talk to me again?" Still no response. It's like I'm talking to a regular truck. "_Fine!_" I snarl, "Be that way. Real mature, Optimus, real mature. Just give me the silent treatment." When he still doesn't respond, I feel like I'm about to explode. "Ugh!" I groan. "You know what? Whatever. I'm done. I tried, you know? I _tried_. But if you're going to ignore me, that's your problem, not mine. I don't need you. You're just a _stupid truck_."

With those words I lift my leg and slam the bottom of my foot into the grill, _hard_, hoping I've dented it. I stagger back, almost smirking. Two soldiers rush me as though I've attacked him, but before they can reach me he transforms _furiously_, before bending over and slamming his hands down on either side of me.

"_Do not touch me_," he says, and the way he says it shocks me. He doesn't snarl, or growl, or shout. His voice is—calm. Calm, but _livid_. I've never heard rage like that before. But it only infuriates me. I stand my ground, my chained hands dangling in front of me, narrowing me eyes. The soldiers are wary, but they don't intervene.

"What're you going to do if I do?" I taunt. "Smash me?" I reach out a finger and touch one of his arms. "Oops! Touched you! Now what?"

"Stop that," he says darkly, clenching his fists. I touch him again and he pulls his arms away from me; I smirk.

"I said I was sorry," I start, but he cuts me off.

"That does not excuse what you did."

"Really? Wow, thanks, I had _no clue!_" I snap sarcastically. His eyes narrow. "When are you going to stop being so—_mean_?" I demand, knowing how childish it sounds. But it's true. I want him to stop being mean to me by ignoring me. "I thought we were friends."

"As did I," he counters. "But, clearly, I was mistaken."

"Stop that!" I hiss. "Stop it. We were friends—I really _cared_ about you, and you're going to throw that away because I made a mistake?"

"It was a huge mistake," he points out, "you betrayed us."

"I didn't _betray_ you!" I say, hating the desperate edge to my voice. "Optimus, I _never_ betrayed you. I never told him anything. I _lied_!" He looks away from me, his face furious. "Pay attention to me." I whisper. "I—it's know been a day, but Optimus—_I miss you_. I miss us. Please—"

"There is no _us_," he says, looking at me again. I swallow, biting hard on my lower lip, trying so hard not to cry. I've had _enough_ crying.

"If I could go back, I would," I whisper, and my voice is high, trembling. "But I can't. And I didn't know what I was doing—"

"You should have told me."

There are so many things I should have told him. I should have told him the _truth_. I should have told him I was the girl from the accident, the one he thought about every day, the one he suffered for daily.

"I'm so sorry," I breathe, looking into his eyes. "I know you were hurting—but so was _I_. I know I should have told you, and I _wanted_ to. I knew you were hurting, and I was scared, but—but I was afraid—"

"Afraid of what?" his voice is almost sarcastic.

"Of _this!_" I cry. "Of this! I didn't want this to happen to us! I knew if I told you that this would happen, and I couldn't take it anymore. Optimus Prime, do you remember the night Skids got hurt? Do you remember what I said?"

I pause for a moment. I know he does. I know he remembers. That was the night he had hugged me, the night we had held hands and comforted each other.

"I meant _everything_ I said that night," I murmur, my voice softer now. "Everything. That's why I tried to leave yesterday. You should have just let me _go_."

"You are right," he says, and I flinch.

A tear finally makes its way down my face and I struggle to brush it away. I just start nodding, like I'm agreeing with him. But if I had left, I wouldn't have found Savannah. It was worth it.

"I miss you," I say again, not sure if he's still listening. "I do. I miss talking to you. I—I miss… I just miss you. I hated sitting alone tonight."

His eyebrows are pulled down and he's frowning, but I can't tell what he's thinking. "I trusted you," he finally says, "and you lied to me."

"I know—"

"I am not finished," he says sharply, and I close my mouth.

"We are not friends anymore," he says. If anyone else had said that, it would have sounded childish. But when Optimus says it, it sounds like a death sentence. "Let that be clear."

I have too much pride to keep pleading. I stare up at him for a moment—something's made his eyes go cold. I always knew this would happen, but I'd never wanted to believe it.

"Fine," I say, angry again. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know this moment will haunt me forever. But some part of me is still holding on to nothing, some hope that we can fix this. "Go on, finish it. Finish what you started."

He looks even angrier. "We are finished," he says. "If I had my way, you would be off base tonight. As it is, I do not want you in my presence for the remainder of your stay here unless circumstances force it. You will not speak to me, you will not touch me. Am I clear?"

I thought, somehow, that I'd had him figured out. I'd been so, so wrong.

"Crystal," I say, my voice cold. Inside I'm falling to pieces. There's no salvaging this. I stand there for a moment and watch him walk away, heading outside before transforming. I want to call him back. I want to beg for forgiveness, but I won't. I'm done begging.

I turn my back on him and head past the other Autobots, glad he can't see my face as it crumples. I inhale sharply, fighting against a sob, refusing to give in to it.

"Where are you going?" One of the soldiers steps in my path.

"You heard him," I choke. "I can't be in here."

The soldier looks uncertain, then nods, grabbing my arm and taking me out of the hangar. When the door closes behind me, the click actually makes me flinch.

Again, the thought echoes through my head:

_What have I done?_

* * *

><p><strong>Poor Parker! :( But I mean I understand where Optimus is coming from. Think about it; if he'd started to develop <strong>_**feelings**_** for her, and then she turns out to be a spy, I think his reaction isn't too strange. ANYWAYS. Things will get better, soon! And a note on Sideswipe: He is angry with her, but he keeps thinking about HIS twin brother, and how he would do anything to get him back. He isn't okay with what Parker did, but he is slightly sympathetic toward her cause, which is why he volunteered to drive her.**

**He'll probably help heal Parker and OP's relationship. :) Yay Sideswipe!**

_**IMPORTANT: **_**Okay, so, I just wanted to tell you guys I'm open to suggestions! Is there anything you want to see happen? Leave it in a review or PM me, and I'll consider it and maybe use it, if it flows! You'll get credit, don't worry! Anyways, yes, things will slowly start to get better for Parker.**

**Sorry for typos. I had no time to proofread this. This is the first and only draft! D:**


	14. Chapter 14

**NOTE: Short chapter is way short. But, because pretty much EVERYONE who reviewed asked for something from Optimus's POV, here you go! It's not written in first person (I) but in third (He) and past tense. Mostly because it would be very hard for me to capture Optimus's voice AT ALL TIMES. Some people think Optimus is being too mean, so I wanted to show WHY. He's suffering, too, guys! Enjoy! Sorry for the shortness, but it is ALL from OP's POV. The next one will be back to Parker. But I wanted to keep his POV isolated.**

**Definitely a filler, but it lets you see inside his head.**

Chapter 14

She was sitting with Skids—or, rather, _on_ Skids—her legs folded beneath her, her chained hands in her lap, her dark head bowed just slightly, shamed. The Autobot had begged to see her; he hadn't seen her since the day she had tried to run, and everything he had been told had come from a secondhand source. Optimus supposed he understood the warrior's need to hear the story from the girl herself; he just wished _he_ didn't have to hear it again.

And, try as he might to ignore her, he _was_ hearing it again, which was difficult. Every time he heard it, or thought about it, his already weak resolve crumpled just a little bit more. He spent most of the days since she'd been discovered trying not to think about her, and sometimes he was successful. But then something would happen—he would hear her voice from another room, or he would see her brother—and he would be back to thinking of her again.

It was bad for them all, really, his fascination with this girl. Which was why, when she had been discovered, he had decided to cut his ties with her. He couldn't waste time thinking about her, not when there were more important matters—war, for instance. It wasn't good for him, and it wasn't good for his soldiers. In the grand scheme of things, did one human girl matter?

He was irritated when the answer formed in the back of his mind, unbidden: Yes. She did matter.

Which only made the pain all the worse. Would he have loved to find that this was all a dream? That the girl was Carmen, just Carmen, not this Parker girl who'd been bent on his destruction? Yes. More than anything, he wished that he'd never had to find out the truth, simply because facing the truth brought too much pain, too much distraction. There was no avoiding it, of course—Parker was Parker, and there was no changing that. She'd done what she'd done. There was no undoing it. The difficult part, now, was coming to terms with it, with the fact that the girl he had come to _adore_ had been a lie. He didn't know this new person—this _Parker_.

This was all good, though, he supposed. Now he could forget about her, and focus on more pressing matters. She'd been a fool, she'd made a mistake, and that was that. It was done. He could focus entirely on his soldiers and on the earth and the humans that needed their protection.

_And yet…_

Hearing her tell the story again did cause him pain. It wasn't that he didn't _understand_—he did, for the most part. He just didn't _want_ to face her again. He'd thought he'd been close to Carmen, and finding out that Carmen had been a lie had momentarily flipped his world upside down and inside out, left him reeling. And adjusting to this new girl was proving more difficult than it should have been.

He was a bot all for second chances, sure. But there was something _else_ there, a sort of nagging fear, small as it was, in the back of his mind that kept him from giving _her_ a second chance, and he didn't understand it. If it had been Sam in her situation, if Sam had betrayed them, would he forgive him? In a heartbeat. But that was Sam, and this was Parker, and Sam and Parker were so different. There was something entirely foreign and alien in his relationship with Parker, something that wasn't present in his relationship with Sam, and that _something_, whatever it was, had him scared.

But maybe scared was the wrong word. Maybe _apprehensive_ or _anxious_ was more appropriate. Did he _want_ to trust her again? Deep down, yes he did. Did he miss her? Every day, and it had been four days since he had told her he didn't want to see her again. And, up until today, he _hadn't_ seen her. It had been easier then, but at the same time, those four days had been difficult, lacking. And he was sure his warriors were picking up on it.

"Hey, uh, Optimus," a tentative male voice sounded from directly in front of him; it was Savannah, her brother. As soon as Savannah had arrived on base, only weeks ago, Optimus had made it a point to meet with the boy; he had, after all, been responsible for the "death" of his sister. He'd decided that he'd liked the young man. Savannah was courageous and selfless and he _loved_; he had joined a secret war for his sister, and Optimus respected him for that. He'd always been amazed by the humans' capacity to love. "Can I talk to you?"

"Of course," Optimus replied from his truck form. The boy looked so much like his sister; he wondered how he hadn't seen it before. It was obvious now. He opened the door so that Savannah could climb in, but he just scratched at the back of his neck hesitantly.

"Actually," he said, "I wanted to talk to you _outside_." His voice dropped considerably. "I don't want Parker to hear."

So this was about Parker.

He transformed and resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder at the girl in question, almost _certain_ that she was looking in their direction now. Her speech had halted for a moment, just slightly, but she was speaking again. He walked outside, the young man at his feet walking briskly to keep up. Once they were out, he crouched down, bracing one hand on the ground, so that he was closer to the boy.

"Don't tell Parker I'm doing this," Savannah said in a rush of breath, looking nervous. "She'll _kill_ me if you tell her."

"We don't speak," Optimus informed him, and noticed that the young soldier's shoulders tightened.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "That's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about." Optimus had to resist the urge to pull away from him. He didn't want to talk about this. It was hard enough as it was.

"What is on your mind, boy?" Optimus asked with a small sigh. He had a pretty good idea what was on his mind.

Savannah hesitated for a moment before his face set, determined. "What would you do if Megatron killed Ironhide?" His voice was hard, but respectful. Optimus almost sighed again. He _knew_ where this was going.

"I would do my best to destroy Megatron," Optimus said honestly. "Ironhide is my oldest and closest friend."

"Right," Savannah said, nodding. "So if Megatron took him from you, you'd be furious—angry enough to seek revenge." Optimus just nodded. He _definitely_ knew where this was going. "Then why is it so hard for you to understand what Parker did? It… it's kind of hypocritical." He said the last part uncertainly before quickly adding, "With all do respect." Optimus just nodded, but when he didn't say anything, Savannah seemed to grow impatient.

"Optimus," he said, sounding almost frustrated, "_you_ were her Megatron. Don't you see that?"

He'd been avoiding thinking about it that way, simply because being compared to Megatron had been too painful and horrible to consider. But what the boy was saying made sense; he went on.

"To her, Megatron was her Optimus—you. She didn't have the benefit of being picked up by the right side like I did. And all the hate I feel for Megatron, for taking and hurting her, and for all that time I thought she was dead—she felt it all, but for _you_. And if she felt even a fraction of what I felt… you can't imagine that _hate_. And yet _you_ managed to change her—_you_. She hated you, but—but she loves you now, I can see that. She loves you and she loves Mudflap and Skids and Bumblebee and Lennox and even Sideswipe and Ratchet and Ironhide." The boy sighed and rubbed the back of his neck again, still looking frustrated. "Park's a stubborn person," he said, "and for her to change that much is… incredible. I don't think you understand that. I don't think you understand _her_."

He was right, of course, and Optimus was very much aware of that fact.

"I can tell it's hurting her," he said, now seeming less sure of himself, as though he wasn't sure he should be saying what he was saying. "And I can tell she misses you. The others, too, but you especially. She won't admit it, though. She acts like nothing's wrong, but I can tell."

"It is better this way," Optimus said, shaking his head slowly.

"For who?" Savannah looked irritated. "Because, to me, it doesn't seem better for _anyone_ involved."

Optimus's metal eyebrows pinched together in the center. Savannah stared up at him, expression hard, arms crossed. He didn't seem to care that he was essentially _reprimanding_ a gigantic alien robot. He cared only for his sister's well-being.

"She never actually did anything _wrong_, you know," Savannah went on dully. "I mean sure, she lied, and she meant to destroy you, but it's easy to see _why_. And she did _lie_ for you—to _Megatron_."

Then Savannah just shrugged, as though everything he had just said didn't _really_ matter. "That's it, I guess," he went on. "Just thought you should know."

And then he started to walk away, hands in his pockets. Optimus was about to stand when the young soldier suddenly stopped in his tracks and spun around, pulling something out of his pocket. It was a sheet of paper, folded into a medium-sized square. He watched curiously as Savannah unfolded it, then held it out. Optimus took it and, when he looked at the drawing on one side, he immediately recognized it.

It was the drawing Parker had given him the night before she had tried to leave.

"That was kind of a low blow, don't you think?" Savannah asked, and Optimus was shocked again by just how protective he was of the girl. "I mean, if you didn't want it anymore, you didn't have to leave it somewhere where she could _find_ it."

"Where did you get this?" Optimus asked, holding the drawing gently in his hand, careful not to damage it anymore than it had been damaged already. Savannah blinked up at him.

"It was on the hangar floor the night things all went to hell," he said. "And I get that you were hurt and all, but… but you should have seen her face when she saw it."

He didn't _want_ to imagine her face when she'd seen it. What had she thought when she'd found it on the floor? He ached slightly at the thought.

"I did not throw this away," Optimus said firmly. Savannah sighed.

"Whatever you say," he said. "Just—I don't know. Never mind. Seriously, though, _don't_ mention this to Parker if you ever talk to her again. She'll kick my ass."

Optimus had no doubt that she would. He knew enough of her to know that she didn't like to be seen as weak, and he knew that this would upset her, despite her brother's good intentions.

"I won't mention it," he said seriously, still wondering about the drawing. Savannah nodded and walked back inside, most likely to be with his sister again. Optimus never ceased to be amazed at their bond. He stayed outside alone for only a moment longer. When he returned inside the hangar, he saw that Parker was alone with her brother, but she was smiling. It wasn't her usual radiant smile, not like the huge, uncontrollable smile she'd gotten the night he'd taken her to see the stars, but it was the best he'd seen in a while—not that he'd seen much of her.

She had to know he was there. There was absolutely _no way_ she could be oblivious to his presence, but she showed him no attention. He may as well have been invisible; it was as though he didn't exist. She was studiously ignoring him, speaking to her brother, still smiling. They hugged, and still, she ignored him.

He wasn't sure why it bothered him. It was what he wanted, wasn't it? This was perfect; he couldn't have asked for better. They weren't speaking, he rarely had to see her, which meant he didn't have to think about how much he missed her—how he missed her at night, when everyone else was resting, how he missed her breathless laugh; a laugh that, for a time, only he had been able to bring out in her. He'd have done anything for that laugh. She'd laughed with the twins, of course, but it wasn't the _same_ laugh, he was sure of it.

He hadn't heard it in too long.

_Stop this_, he told himself. What was he _thinking?_ They were still in a war with Megatron who, obviously, wasn't lying as low as they had hoped. There were bigger things to consider, things more important than a girl's laugh. But he did miss her.

"Come on," she said lowly to her brother. "I need to get out of here."

"But—"

"I'm done talking to Skids," she murmured, as though she didn't want Optimus to hear. "Please? I'm not allowed in here anymore."

"Oh—right." Savannah gave him a look, but then he and the other soldiers guarding her left. She didn't so much as give him a backward glance.

He knew she deserved a second chance. She'd proven herself multiple times. He didn't understand why it was so hard, then, for him to give it to her. There was still that fear; because she was _different_. She was strong, she was wild, she _could_ handle herself. She was sharp-witted, short-tempered, angry, a warrior. But she was also fiercely protective—he remembered the night Starscream had attacked her, the way she had insisted that the doctors focus on the Skids rather than her.

He remembered the feeling of her tiny hand, of his own, harsh and huge and metallic, wrapped carefully around it. He remembered the feeling of those soft hands on his face, touching him gently, as though she was reassuring _him,_ or as though she was afraid of hurting him with her touch. He remembered the ferocity in her gaze as she had said, _"I won't let them hurt you, Optimus Prime."_ As if _she_, a girl standing no taller than five feet, nine inches, made of soft flesh and brittle bone, could protect _him_ from the Decepticons on her own. She'd looked so determined, and for a moment he had believed her.

He'd never met another human like her. Carmen had been unique enough, but when he had discovered that she was actually _Parker_, he'd realized she was more complex than he'd originally thought. She'd managed to keep up this cleverly constructed ruse, a mask. She'd put up with years of the Decepticons. She'd put up with _him_, when she had hated him in the beginning. He remembered seeing the change in her, remembered the first night he had seen her really start to _believe_. He hadn't understood then. But now he did.

He sighed and transformed into the Peterbilt to think, making sure to keep the drawing tucked carefully away inside of himself. He hadn't meant to lose it. And, though he was still angry with her and hurt, and feeling more than a little betrayed, he still didn't want her to _hurt_. He knew how personal her drawings were to her, and for her to think he had thrown it away so carelessly… he couldn't stand it. He wanted to make it right. That drawing meant _a lot_ to him; angry as he was, he would never throw it away.

He thought about how she had run, that day. He'd been so _scared_ when he realized she wasn't in the flower shop anymore, but he couldn't figure out what had happened. Still, the fear that had pumped through him had made him desperate, though he would never show it or admit it to anyone. The relief he had felt when he'd seen her caught in Ironhide's arms had been overwhelming—so overwhelming that he'd spoken to her fiercely, his fear turned into anger.

He understood now why she had left, and he'd had to admit that he respected her for it. At first it had touched him, in a way, but it had stopped mattering when he'd realized she'd been working for Megatron. And hearing her story, though it had made him ache, had only made him angry. So angry, and so scared that one tiny human had that much control over him. He'd realized then that the best thing to do for _everyone_ would be to sever their bond.

He just hadn't realized how much it would hurt.

In all honesty, he wasn't sure he could do it much longer. He thought of the way that Bumblebee was _desperately_ missing Sam; Bumblebee hadn't had much time to visit his human friend, and Optimus was sure that he finally understood Bumblebee's need. Sam, he knew, was Bumblebee's closest friend; he knew that Bumblebee would forgive Sam, were he in Parker's place. So why was it so _hard_ then?

Deep down, he knew why; he just didn't particularly want to consider it or go there. Parker was different, yes. Bumblebee didn't feel for Sam the way that Optimus felt for Parker. And he wasn't sure why. He just knew that there was something _else_ there, something that, as the leader of the Autobots, he couldn't afford to consider or deal with. They came first. This _planet_ came first. His happiness could wait—it would _have to_ wait. He'd been foolish with the girl, leaving base to take her to see the stars, or to take her to the flower shop. He couldn't afford any more foolishness.

No, he decided. As much as it hurt, as much as he missed her, this was best. It was best for the Autobots. It was best for earth and the humans involved. His being distracted wouldn't do _anyone_ any good. And, besides, even if he _did_ want to talk to her, to try and make things right, he couldn't. It would be impossible. The girl had a wild temper; he had seen her flare up on multiple occasions. She wouldn't listen to him; he'd seen the look on her face when he'd told her he was finished with her. There was no fixing that.

But he had to try, didn't he?

No. Of course not. There were bigger things at stake, things of more importance than the affections of one human girl.

**I like the Sam/Parker comparison in the beginning, where Optimus thinks about how it would be easier to forgive Sam if he'd done this. I think it sums up his dilemma there really well. Isn't it always easier to forgive a friend than someone who you care about, maybe romantically? People who have access to our hearts always hurt us a little more, and make it harder to forgive them, and when he talks about being scared and anxious, that's what he means.**

**And think about it. When was the last time he felt for someone like that, even if it's very small? Yep. It's been a while.**

**I hope you liked it!**


	15. Chapter 15

**NOTE: I love the part in this about **_**Ronnie Addams**_**. I just love this side of Parker. ;) Also, if you want to see exactly how Parker gets out of her handcuffs, go here. Minus the spaces, and click the first video that says "How to pick handcuffs with a bobby pin":**

**http : / wickedhowtos . com /index . php/2009/09/10/how-to-get-out-of-handcuffs/**

**I had fun writing that part, too, how excited she was to escape the cuffs.**

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 15 <span>

I told Skids the whole story, from start to finish. I'd been completely honest, laid it all out for him to see, completely expecting him to hate me and accepting that fact. But he deserved to know. The most surprising thing though was that he _didn't_ hate me. Was he disappointed in me? Yes. But he didn't _hate_ me. When I'd finished telling him, he'd stared at me long and hard, his face somewhere between hurt and betrayed. I'd been sitting in his lap, his legs folded beneath mine, staring up anxiously at his face.

It had taken him a few minutes of sorting through his emotions. It had been painful and ugly, but in the end, all that mattered was that he didn't hate me. It's funny how life works, sometimes. Skids is the one I had hurt most—physically, anyway—and he is the only one who doesn't hate me. He doesn't really trust me anymore, but his reaction had inspired a sort of hope in me. Because if Skids, out of all of them, could find it in his heart to find some sort of kindness, however small, maybe the others could, too. In time.

A little over a week has passed since I'd first been discovered, since I'd found my brother. We'd spent a lot of time talking to each other, and I'd learned a lot about his new life. Mom _was_ dead; she'd died a little over a year ago in another car accident, this one with real cars, not aliens. I wanted to visit her grave, someday, if I ever got out of this mess. This last week, I think that was the most painful thing for me. I'd already accepted, before, that both she and my brother were dead. But then, finding my brother, I'd found hope again—hope that maybe she was alive, too. And learning that she'd survived the accident only to be killed in another broke my heart. The worst part is knowing that she had died thinking I'd been murdered by Decepticons. I'd have to make it right. If I think about it too much, I can't handle it, so I try to focus on other things.

Like my brother's girlfriend, for instance.

Her name was Veronica, aka Ronnie, Addams. _Ronnie _Addams. I knew her. We had gone to school together. Savannah was clearly in love with her; it showed in his eyes when he'd started talking about her, and he hadn't been able to _stop._ According to him, she was the best thing that'd ever happened to him—smart, fun, and innately _good_, which irritated me. As a general rule, I can't stand _good_ people, mostly because I'm sure they have something to hide. So I don't like her. One, because of her _goodness_—honestly, when I had known her back in school, her constant state of _sweetness_ had made me want to puke—and two, because she was my replacement, and three, because I owed it to her for getting my brother through life without me. She'd essentially saved his life, and I was grateful. But, as another general rule, I try not to _owe_ people things. Just look where _that's_ gotten me. In handcuffs. Though, admittedly, that was my fault for wanting vengeance, but owing Megatron my life had had a lot to do with it, too.

_Ronnie Addams_.

Sweet, docile, goody-goody, _blond_, _slender_ Ronnie Addams. Ronnie Addams, who dotted her i's with little hearts. Ronnie Addams, who had never, ever, ever done a bad thing in her life. Ronnie Addams, who wouldn't hurt a fly. Literally. One time, there had been a spider in class and Ronnie Addams had taken it outside and set if free. I mean, _who even does that?_ It wasn't that she had done anything to me personally—oh, _no_, sweet little Ronnie Addams wouldn't _dream_ of hurting anyone—it was her complete lack of _balls_ that had always bothered me.

And also the fact that she was just too _good_ and wholesome to be true. I mean, I'd never thought of myself as the type to, say, join up with psycho aliens and betray another group of aliens, but Jesus Christ, this girl had never even gotten a _detention_.

My brother is in love with _Ronnie Addams._ I still can't get over it. To be honest, while I _am_ happy he's found love, I'm completely pissed off that he found it in _Ronnie Addams_. He showed me a picture of them together, my brother in his military greens, smiling at the camera, and _Ronnie Addams_ draped over his neck like a sweet, blond, freckled little boa constrictor. Looking at the picture, I hadn't been able to decide whether I should shred it into itty-bitty-little pieces or throw up on it. In the end, I'd handed it back to him with a shudder.

The absolute, worst, most horrible, most _sickening_ part of all of this? My brother wanted to ask _Ronnie-goddamned-Addams_ to marry him. I could not have Ronnie Addams, my polar opposite, as my sister-in-law.

But I tried to like her. After all, Savannah had said that she alone had gotten him through his darkest period. She alone had supported him when he'd decided to join the military. She wrote to him every day. She stayed loyal and faithful and loved him, in spite of his obnoxiousness, which is okay, I guess. Savannah had always had women trailing after him, due to his exotic half-black-half-white looks, and he could have had anyone. It just had to be _Ronnie Addams._

He wants me to meet her—officially, as his girlfriend and future fiancé, that is. I can't think of anything I'd rather do less, in all honesty, but I _owe_ it to her. And as much as she bothers me, I do appreciate what she did for him, even if I do still think of her as my replacement. So I'd spent some time these last few days reshaping my idea of her. Maybe she isn't so bad. She is definitely a better person than _I_ am, that much is certain, and I _am_ happy for Savannah. If she makes him happy, then that's enough for me.

Oh, who am I kidding? I'm going to _destroy her_.

I think Savannah can sense how much I dislike the idea of him and Ronnie Addams together, but I've kept my mouth shut, for the most part. After all; I've been gone for two years, and she's been there for him. She just had better not overstep any boundaries. I can try to like her, I guess, but—just—_Ronnie Addams?_

In order to keep from thinking about my dead mother or _Ronnie Addams_, I've been occupying myself by coming up with wild escape plans. I'll never carry them out, of course, but all the fun is in planning, anyway. And I need fun. Trust me; you don't know boredom until you've been locked in handcuffs for a week, under constant watch. I can't so much as scratch my ass without someone reporting it, making note of it, and evaluating the potential threat that ass-scratching poses.

I've even experimented with busting out of my handcuffs, just for kicks. I've tried a few different things—slicking my skin with soap or oil to slip out, for instance—but nothing had worked. That is, until I tried the miracle called the Bobby Pin. As soon as I'd inserted it into the keyhole, I'd just felt _good_ about this one. I probably should have given up after the first couple of hours, but, honestly, boredom can do strange things to a girl. It had taken a few hours and a million soft curses and sore fingers, twisted wrists, and failures, but finally—_finally_—the cuffs had given a soft _click_ and one had slid open.

I'd nearly had a heart attack. My heart literally stopped for a moment. I swear I heard angels singing _Hallelujah!_ I'd felt like the world's smartest, most clever woman. I put Houdini to _shame_. And then I'd been so scared that I'd be caught, I'd closed the cuff over my wrist again, my heart hammering, sweating bullets.

Of course, after my first success, I'd continued to do it for _hours_, and I'm so good at it now that I'm bored again. Give me one Bobby Pin, and I'm free within twenty seconds. Child's play. I'm just glad I haven't been caught—then again, part of me wants to show them, A) to make them feel stupid, and B) in hopes that maybe I'll be thrown in a holding cell and I can dedicate my time to figuring out how to pick that lock.

Honestly, I feel like the lock pick champion of the _world_. Normally, were circumstances different, I'd be flaunting my newfound talent. Now, however, I have to keep it to myself, and it's killing me. And now I have to find a new way to pass the time.

"Since when do you pin your hair back?" Savannah asks, sitting next to me in my room. He's the only one inside with me, and the soldiers are standing guard outside. He's referring to the 1,000-ish Bobby Pins residing in my hair. As much as I want to, I can't even tell _him_. I'm sure he'd have to turn me in.

"It was bothering me, that's all," I say with a shrug. Then I throw my head back and groan. "Dude," I say, "I've seriously _had_ it. How long are they going to keep watching me? I'm going _out of my mind_." It's night time, so he's done with his training and duties, so he's hanging out with me. I don't think he's technically _supposed to_, but Lennox seems to have a soft spot for him. God only knows why.

"Well," Savannah says with a cheeky grin, "that's sort of what happens when you get caught working for the most evil dude in the universe." I narrow my eyes.

"Oh, so we're joking about it now?"

"Babe," he says, leaning his shoulder into mine. "It's been a week. You're lucky I waited this long."

I smile. I know joking about it is his way of helping me get over it, and I appreciate it. He's never been the type to linger over the bad things, and if there's a way to laugh about it, he'll find it. He's still angry at Lennox, of course, but he's turned to laughter. I've just about had it with the Megatron-inspired jokes, though, and the insinuation that he and I were _involved_.

Megatron had contacted me a couple of days ago, thanking me for the information, and that had been all. He's been too quiet lately, and it's making me nervous. I've told Lennox as much, but there's really nothing they can do about it. No one knows where he is. All we can do is wait.

I've got that feeling again, though, a sort of tension building within me, and it's not just stemming from the fact that I'm bored to death. Something's _wrong_. It's not like him to be this quiet, and I'm afraid he might try to attack us—to attack Optimus.

Optimus Prime.

I still haven't spoken to him, and God, do I _miss_ him. I haven't told anyone that, of course; it was hard enough to admit it to myself. I guess I'd never noticed how much I cared for him until I didn't have him anymore—that old, horrible cliché: you don't know what you've got till it's gone. It's so, so true, as much as I hate to admit it. I just miss being in his presence, or having him hold me against his chest, or sitting in his cabin, or just _talking_ to him like I hadn't been able to talk to anyone else since I'd lost my brother.

I roll my cramped shoulders and push these thoughts out of my mind. Another thing I don't want to think about: Tomorrow. Or, rather later tonight, early tomorrow morning, in only a few minutes.

Apparently, another Autobot crash-landed on earth hours ago, and as much as they would like to be able to pick up and leave, they can't. And by _they_, I mean Optimus Prime, Ratchet, Lennox, and a few other soldiers. My brother is one of them because, _apparently_, even though he's a new recruit, he needs this experience. And he's talented, or so I've heard.

Teacher's pet.

But whatever. So I'll be left here, all alone, under strict guard. But at least this way I'll be allowed back in the hangar. Maybe I'll talk to Skids some more, without Optimus around to keep me away. This is also part of the reason my brother is with me, now; he's saying bye. Not good-bye, because he'll be coming back, of course, but just bye, he'll see me later, don't worry too much. As if that's possible. I'm going to worry myself insane.

After a few more minutes, Savannah finally stands and takes my hand, leading me out of the room. He convinces the soldiers to let me come with him as they load up and roll out. So we all move into the hangar; I'm careful to keep myself quiet, tucked away in the background where no one, mainly Optimus, will notice me. Lennox is calling out orders, running over the plan. Optimus is standing, arms folded, watching things going on below him. Every once in a while, he turns and says something to Ratchet, who's transformed into the Hummer.

"Rook!"

Both my brother and I look up at Lennox. He gives me a look—not as hostile as it could be, but definitely apprehensive.

"Come on," he says to my brother, his voice all stern and military-like. Savannah nods and turns to me with a warm, reassuring smile. I loop my arms over his neck, the cuffs drawn taunt, and he wraps his arms quickly around my waist, giving me a hard squeeze.

"Be careful," I mumble into his neck. "I just got you back."

"I'll be back soon," he says, stroking the top of my head and helping me get my arms back over his head. He pulls me into another quick hug. "Don't be stupid, P."

"I won't. I'll be good." He snorts and ruffles my hair. I bury my face in his shoulder, breathing him again, praying it won't be the last time. I glance over his shoulder and nearly jump out of my skin when I lock eyes with Optimus. Savannah feels me jump and pulls away, glancing over his shoulder, spotting the leader. He glances between us, gives me an odd look.

"Soldier!" Lennox barks. Savannah winces, pushes my head down with his large hand affectionately, and turns and jogs toward the gathering. I watch him for only a moment before looking at Optimus again, and, again, we lock eyes. My stomach clenches slightly as I try to read his expression, but it's blank. His eyebrows are drawn slightly, but that's it.

"Come on, big man," Lennox says, and Optimus blinks and looks down at him. "We all set?"

"We are," Optimus says, and it's the first time in so long since I've heard his voice. I inhale softly at the sound, hoping that this won't be the last time I hear it. My heart won't stop fluttering; my palms are sweating, and my stomach is in knots. I struggle to remember the last thing I said to him. I know it wasn't anything good. Our argument replays in my head, as it has been since the night it happened. I feel slightly sick.

This is it. They're leaving, and the sick feeling in my stomach is telling me to _stop them_, because Megatron has been lying too low, because he hasn't spoken to me, because things have been going too well. They're all gathered together, and Optimus is transforming, and even though I promised myself I would be nice and quiet, I can't stop myself from speaking now. Because the thought of my last words, angry and hateful, looms in the air, and I will _not_ let those be the last words I say to him.

"O—_Optimus_," I gasp, the word bursting from my throat in a rush. He's in his Peterbilt form again, and some of the soldiers are giving me odd looks. "Optimus—_be careful_," I breathe. "I—just—be careful." The last bit comes out an embarrassed mumble.

Lennox gives me a long look. "We'll be back soon," he says before opening Optimus's door and climbing in. The other soldiers climb in after him, loading into both Optimus and Ratchet. At first I'm sure Optimus is just going to ignore me, but then, as he heads out, he flashes his headlights at me as he drives past. Or I think it's at me, anyway, though it could have been directed at anyone.

As they disappear into the darkness of the early morning and the hangar door closes, Ironhide transforms; with Optimus gone, he is in charge. He gives me a hard, stony look before turning and addressing a soldier; presumably whoever is in charge now, with Lennox gone. I sigh and chew at my fingernails anxiously, bouncing up and down on my toes.

For a moment I just wait, hoping someone will talk to me, but aside from Ironhide's occasional dirty look it's like I don't even exist. Finally the soldiers just lead me back to my room, leaving me alone inside where I fiddle with my cuffs on and off some more before throwing myself down on top of the covers. The last time I felt this anxious, this full of restless energy, I had talked Optimus into doing something spontaneous, and we'd relaxed together and watched the stars. That felt like ages ago, now. And tonight, instead of watching the stars, I'm trapped in this room, guards at my door, and I'm staring up at the ceiling.

I groan and sit up again, playing with the cuffs. I twist another Bobby Pin and play with the keyhole. _Click_. Open. I close it again. _Click_. Open. Close. _Click_. Open. Close. It's all very tedious. But the monotony, the repeated little movements, keep me from thinking about everything: My mother, Ronnie Addams, and where my brother, Optimus, and Lennox have gone. I don't want to worry. I don't want to think about anything too much. I know exactly what could happen, and it terrifies me.

I don't know how, but eventually I manage to fall asleep. It's not restful; it's tense and filled with those little dreams, the kind where you feel like you're falling and you manage to snap awake just an instant before you hit the ground. I have five of those, at least, but I do manage to sleep.

But then the morning comes, and it isn't like any other morning I've ever experienced.

There is nothing, _nothing_ like the terror of waking up to the sound of a wailing siren. For a moment I'm so terrified that I don't know how to react, and eventually I start to scream. The sound is loud, piercing, haunting, rattling through my bones, a high, keening wail. It reminds me of the alarms that sound in those old movies when bombs are being dropped from the sky, and it makes me so scared. Is someone _bombing_ us? Am I about to die? I frantically rush for the door just as it slams open. The soldiers' faces are urgent, intense, angry. One of them grabs me and I'm rushed down into the hangar, by the computers.

The Autobots are all transforming furiously, and when I enter the hangar every eye turns to stare at me.

"What's going on?" I demand, but no one is listening. "What's happening?" My heart is hammering in my throat, and I'm afraid I might choke on it. I can feel my pulse in my fingertips. The siren continues to wail, and a voice comes over the speakers.

"_Autobots, prepare for battle."_

The voice is unfamiliar, but authoritative. The Autobots are all hyped up over something. Ironhide approaches me and slams his fists down around me, bringing his face close to mine.

"You _fool_," he roars, making my heart stop. "What have you done? I will _end_ you for this!"

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><p><strong>NOTE:<strong> **Just so you know, the future will include: Intense battles, mucho sadness, some real sweetness, some funnies, and some other cool stuff. Yay for plot advancement!**

**Reviews are love! Also, the lack of anything important happening in this chapter is on **_**purpose**_**—to emphasize just how odd Parker finds it that nothing is going on.**

**QUESTION:**

**Who do you guys want the new Autobot to be? I know I left some of them out, so I'll bring in whoever you want now—as long as they're in the third movie. So that's Dino/Mirage (right?) or Que/Wheeljack?**


	16. Chapter 16

**NOTE: So, ACTION. Parker's reaction in the beginning I love. She develops a lot in this chap, I think. Also, I hope you guys don't mind that I created a few nameless, faceless bad guys to hang out and do some damage. I didn't really think it would matter.**

**Also: I love Soldier. He's a cool dude.**

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><p><span>Chapter 16<span>

The other Autobots have all readied themselves for battle; the hangar door is opening. Ironhide is still in my face, scaring the living hell out of me. I've fallen back on my butt, my hands trapped in front of me.

"_What are you talking about?_" I gasp. "I didn't do _anything!_"

"_Autobots, they're closing in."_ The voice rings through the hangar. Soldiers are bustling around us, readying themselves for battle. I still don't understand.

"This is your fault," Ironhide growls. "And if _they_ don't destroy you, _I will_."

Somehow, he's scarier in that moment than all the Decepticons put together. I believe him. I still don't know what it is I've supposedly done, but I know he isn't listening to me. The siren wails ominously, making me feel urgent and jumpy.

"Ironhide—" I start, but the hangar doors open. He and the other Autobots all transform, soldiers piling into them, and speed off. Some of the soldiers are left behind, still readying themselves. I'm nearly in all-out panic mode.

"_What is going on?"_ I practically shriek, turning to one of the soldiers guarding me. He seems too distracted to care that this is all "my fault" and he answers me.

"We're under attack," he says.

"By _who?_" As if I don't already know.

"The Decepticons." He stares into my eyes for a moment, and finally they take on the cold look I've been expecting. "You told Megatron."

"_No!_" I cry, "I didn't, I swear I didn't!" My throat is already closing up. The soldier looks like he wants to object; clearly he doesn't believe me. But he doesn't have time to say anything else; a loud explosion sounds from outside, rocking the ground beneath me, and I scream. The soldier hauls me to my feet and shoves me at someone; I fall into his arms, my hands still trapped.

"_Don't let her out of your sight!"_

"What?" I gasp, "No, _no!_ You can't! I didn't do this—_I didn't do this!_"

I'm screaming and struggling in the man's arms. He's trying to restrain me, but as another explosion rocks the hangar he releases me. I immediately take off. My first instinct is to hide somewhere, my brain screaming _runrunrunhidehidehide_, and nobody pays me much attention. Everyone is scattering, trying to get ready, some rushing out of the hangar and into the dark, dreary day; rain is drizzling steadily. I get elbowed and shoved aside as I fight the crowd, seeking a safe place to hide, finally ducking down behind and beneath the stairs.

Panicked, my fingers trembling, I draw a Bobby Pin out of my hair and work it frantically into my cuffs, swearing violently when they won't come loose. I can't calm down; the adrenaline pumping through my body has me all shaky, the fear making my brain stutter. I flinch as another loud _boom_ echoes around me, actually whimpering.

"Please, please, please," I beg the cuffs, "come on, come _on—YES!_"

I cry out gleefully as one of them, the one on my right wrist, slides open. That's good enough for me. The cuff dangles from my left wrist, one of them still attached, but I can't focus enough to try and fight the other one open. I peek out from my hiding spot, trying to make sense of this mess. Soldiers are yelling; I can hear gunfire and explosions. Decepticons. _Why are they here?_ Megatron—he didn't warn me, he hadn't hinted at this! This wasn't _fair! _And how had he known to attack today?

I scream again as there's another explosion, covering my head with my arms, shaking. I want to throw up. I am _going_ to throw up. I can't handle this. I've been trained, yes, but not for something like—like _this_. This is too much. This is a full-on _battle_.

I can hear shouting from outside, can make out voices that are painfully familiar. I'm shocked when I discover that my cheeks are wet, and I'm disgusted with myself. My friends—_ex-_friends?—are out there fighting, and I'm here, crouched and hiding like a sniveling child. I try to tell myself that I won't be useful, that I'll only get in the way, but I know it's not true. I can handle a gun; I've got fantastic aim. I'm strong, I'm smart, I know what I'm doing.

But it isn't my _job!_ I've never been the save-the-world type; that's always been Savannah. I'm selfish, I'm too busy always looking out for myself. And it's different, now. Megatron _knows_—I can feel it. It's all starting to add up. He _knows_, which scares me even more, because I'm not untouchable anymore. I can be killed like anyone else. That was the only reason I had "attacked" Starscream before, because I knew he couldn't hurt me.

It's different, now. And I really, _really_ do not want to die. Then again, this is what Savannah _does_—God, I hope he's safe right now. And that's what gets me; the thought of Savannah, doing this for the rest of his life which, considering, may not be that long. How would he look at me, knowing I'd hidden, stood by while his friends had died? What would the Autobots think? What would _Optimus_ think?

"Shit," I say. "Shit, shit _shit!_" And then I let out a frustrated scream and get to my feet, shaking from head to toe. I can't let them do this alone. That's the shitty thing about love; when you really love someone, whether they're friends or family or actual lovers, you'd fight wars for them.

Goddammit.

I run from my hiding spot, following the crowd of soldiers, all armed and protected, helmet-clad, holding huge guns, wearing their uniforms—and me, wearing a thin white tank top, yoga pants (I'd just woken up, after all), and boots; weaponless, without armor, without anything but my own stupidity and my stupid handcuffs and Bobby Pins, which really wouldn't do me any good in a fight. I'm getting shoved around by soldiers; some of them are hanging back to protect the base, should the enemy get too close.

"Hey!" one of them barks, snatching my wrist. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going out there!" I say, fighting the urge to throw up. I'm so scared, and I know he can see it on my face. He swallows thickly, and for a moment we just lock eyes.

"Please," I say. "I've lived with them. I can fight them. _Please_ don't make me be useless." Though part of me is hoping he'll chain me up somewhere safe, I'm ashamed at the very thought. I bite my lip. "You need all the help you can get," I urge. And he makes a snap decision, wasting no time; he drags me back, shoves a huge gun into my hands. I nearly pee myself, wishing desperately that I had just stayed out of it.

"Can you use this?"

"Yes, sir," I say breathlessly. He nods. Then he reaches up and unsnaps his helmet from his head and slaps it down on top of mine, buckling it under my chin. He says something to another soldier, who runs away, returning with one of their padded green vests.

"No—keep it—" I start to say, but he silences me with a look as he forces me into the vest.

"This is it, kid," he says roughly, though he's only a few years older than me. He claps me on the shoulder, and I stagger under the force and the weight of the vest. "Prove 'em wrong." There's another explosion, the sound of screeching metal. He grabs me by the front of my vest and tugs me behind him.

"Stay with me!" he commands. "Look out for yourself—you're not gonna be a liability, understand? Handle yourself, take out the 'Cons—" We're about to step out of the hangar when he turns to me. "Stay behind me," he says, his voice gentler. "You ready, soldier?"

"No," I practically whimper, and he smiles at me and then turns away.

And then we're running, and I think I might be screaming but I'm not sure, and we're ducking and dodging giant robot feet. The soldier—I don't even know his _name_—I'll call him Soldier, I decide—grabs the front of my vest and pulls me down; I hit the ground hard, landing on my knees. We duck behind a small wall, and I copy him as he rests his gun on the wall for support.

I glance out at the chaos in front of us. Our robots, my _friends_, are fighting viciously with a slew of Decepticons, some I've never seen before. I recognize Barricade in the mix, and hate surges up within me, and then self-loathing when I realize I'm scared for him, too, in some sickening way. I hate him, I do, but—he'd been my family, too, for two years. I don't want to _see_ him die.

"We're not going directly into the fight," Soldier tells me, watching the battle, waiting for an open shot. "That's what the Autobots are for. Back here, you're fairly safe. Fire when you have an opening, aim for the weak spots, don't hesitate."

Rock and rubble goes flying. Someone—a robot, obviously—missed his shot and hit the ground. I cover my neck with one arm as pieces of rock fly by. A couple of other soldiers slide in beside us, and they don't question my presence there. Everyone is in battle mode, now.

We manage to fire off a few shots into the fray as Bumblebee and a large Decepticon break off, rolling around. Bumblebee gets the upper hand, but only for a moment. The Decepticon is larger than he is. We're firing manically, but it's like throwing pebbles at an elephant—he doesn't seem to feel it. Thankfully, Skids and Mudflap intervene, and the three of them are an unstoppable force.

The sound of gunfire is overwhelming, and I just want to curl up and hide somewhere safe. One soldier thumps me on the back, reassuring me. We manage to stay together for what seems like a long time, though it can't be more than a few minutes. None of us has been hurt, though, unfortunately, I can't say the same for some of the other soldiers. I can hear screams, cries of pain; I can see bodies and wounded men.

There are only four Decepticons, tops, and one more who looks more like an animal than anything else—it looks like the Cybertronian equivalent of a tiger. It's been doing most of the damage to the soldiers, running around and pouncing, tearing with razor teeth and claws. This thing has me scared—it seems _animal_, like a dog under the command of a master. And it's enjoying itself.

I scream as it latches itself onto Bumblebee's back, but he shakes it off, pinning it to the ground. We fire at it, but the bullets only scratch it unless we hit the right spots which, for me at least, is more difficult than I'd initially thought. We do seem to irritate it, though, because it turns to us and charges.

"Whoa!" Soldier yells, "Move, move, move!"

We manage to dart away just in time. Sparks fly as its metal claws gouge at the concrete as it tries to turn, but only slams into the low wall, obliterating it. Soldier and I went in one direction, the other soldiers in another. I don't know why, maybe because of me, but the thing chases _us_. Within seconds it's upon us, pinning us both, one with each metal paw, digging its claws in. I'm thankful for the vest—I'd be dead without it.

But I'm still screaming bloody murder. Soldier and I are both firing at the thing, hitting it in the face and mouth, both of us pinned on our backs. Soldier's face is a mask of determination as he keeps firing. One of us—I'm not sure which—hits one of its eyes, and it shrieks, backing up, snarling. We manage to roll away.

"Eyes, eyes!" Soldier is yelling, and I fire for its other eye, letting out a long, angry scream. I think I even closed my eyes; the gun is so powerful that, by the end of it, it's shoved me back a few feet due to the recoil. The thing is staggering around now, shrieking, lashing out blindly. One paw catches my legs, cutting the fabric of my yoga pants, leaving thin, shallow razor-cuts on my thighs, but I hardly notice. Soldier and I are dancing around the thing, and I'm almost having fun; Soldier is definitely grinning.

The thing finally goes down, and we both whoop triumphantly. He gives me a high five, grasping my hand, treating me like I'm really, truly one of them; it's the best feeling I've had in a while. He slaps my cheek roughly, seemingly unaware that I'm a girl.

"You got your brother's blood after all," he says.

And that's all he has time to say before we're drawn into another battle; Barricade is charging us, and I almost smile. _This_ I can handle. I know Barricade. I know how to fight him. He transforms into the police cruiser as he reaches us, and I turn and fire, leaving nicks in the windshield. Then, just as he's about to hit me, I do the move he'd taught me, engrained in me, forced me into doing a million times no matter how painful; I jump so that my right foot lands on his hood, and my left on the roof shortly after the right, before his momentum completely knocks me down and I roll off the bumper onto the pavement.

Trust me; it is _so_ not badass. It's clumsy and I probably look like a clown doing it, but it works. He transforms on the other side of me, looming over me as I roll over, ignoring my skinned elbows. Drool flies from his mouth and splatters on my face as he snarls at me; I snarl right back, then laugh, because I know what we're both thinking. In all honesty, he'd never expected me to really fight him and use these moves against him.

I know I'm going to die, though, right here, right now. I really, really regret it. I'd give anything _not_ to die right now, crushed by Barricade, with Ironhide, Optimus, Bumblebee, the twins and Sideswipe thinking I'm a traitor. I want to make things right. But I still raise my gun, after reloading it, and shoot at him relentlessly as he rears back and prepares to kill me. His hands come down and I roll to one side, and he misses me by a hair. I roll again, and again, he misses. I start to laugh—it's the horrible, hysterical sort of laughter, the sort you don't even know you're capable of having till you're staring death in the face.

Somehow—thank God for adrenaline—I manage to get to my feet. The only safe place with these guys is directly beneath them. Here, under his feet, I can outmaneuver him, and he can't grab me. As long as I avoid being crushed, I should be fine.

"Filth," he snarls, "disgusting animal!"

And he transforms again, and I know I'm screwed. He's too close for me to repeat the first move, and so he slams into me, knocking me flat. Again, I'm thankful for the vest, even if it does slow me down. The wind is knocked out of me, but I manage to hold onto my gun as I fire away at him; it only seems to irritate him. I shove my feet against his front bumper, which is suddenly lined with razor-sharp spikes, just waiting to impale me. I kick him desperately, trying to roll over and get to my feet, and suddenly there's a collision.

Glass goes flying, raining down on me, leaving little nicks in my skin. I squint against the horrible combination of glass and rain and sparks in time to see that Skids—Skids, who is still recovering—has thrown himself at Cade violently. Mudflap joins his side within seconds, and together they take him on.

I don't have time to thank him; I can't even think over the rapid gunfire. I smell smoke and gasoline and oil in the air, mixed with the rain—rain, a scent I'd always loved, now tainted. I get quickly to my feet and run for cover; I've lost sight of Soldier, and I desperately hope he's okay. I'm nearly crushed by a gigantic, clawed foot—definitely Decepticon—as I run. I scream and back up, slipping in a slick of oil. Something a few feet away bursts into flames. I hear the unmistakable sound of Ironhide's cannons; I can hear his gruff, accented voice, cocky, arrogant, and with good reason.

I glance up, realizing I'm in the middle of a fight Bumblebee is having with a Decepticon, and I sprint away as fast as I can. Not too far away, Sideswipe has managed to cut off a Decepticon's arm with his blades. I'm entranced watching him, so elegant and graceful. He somehow attaches himself to the Decepticon as it tries to run, using his wheel-feet to skate behind him for a few moments before he finishes him off completely. I can practically see him smirking from the distance as he removes his blade.

I stop running, realizing that the fight is somehow, inexplicably almost over. Bumblebee and Ironhide have now taken on the one Decepticon, and Mudflap and Skids are destroying Barricade who, as I watch, finally turns and retreats. That doesn't make things any less intense, of course; bits of rock and asphalt are still flying, the ground is still trembling, people are still dying and shots are still being fired.

This battle, the one between Bumblebee, Ironhide, and the Decepticon, is the most violent. They're throwing each other around, ruining the concrete, destroying parts of the base. As he fights, the Decepticon still is trying to hurt us, the humans, and he's succeeding; launching rockets that are exploding and tossing people into the air. One of them hits close to me, and me and two other soldiers go flying through the air, only a few feet off the ground, thankfully, as the shockwave leaves us leveled.

I roll onto my back and brace myself against a slab of concrete and fire away at the Decepticon, who's managed to break away from Bumblebee and Ironhide. A few other soldiers are gathered around me, and, I realize with relief, one of them is _Soldier_. We're all firing at the Decepticon; a couple of soldiers have rocket launchers themselves.

In the end, it is _us_, the humans, who take down the Decepticon. Our bullets take out his knees with the aid of thrown explosives, and a well-placed rocket in the chest ends him. When he goes down and his eyes dim, we all start whooping and cheering, ecstatic. We all get to our feet, guns thrust in the air, screaming out our triumph to the world aggressively. I want to remember this moment forever. Because, right now, I'm not the Decepticon-girl; I'm the girl who fired her gun and who helped out in her own small way.

Even the Autobots seem impressed with us, but, despite our triumph, no one is smiling. Our faces are set, grim, and the ecstasy is short lived; there are dead and wounded to be looked after. My knees are weak and shaking, both from terror and the excitement of our small victory. I wish my brother was here, I wish Optimus and Lennox and Ratchet were here to see this—not the gore, of course. But victory always comes with a cost, and, as I look out at the dead, I wonder if it truly _is_ a victory when so many have been hurt and lost.

Orders are already being called out, orders to help the wounded and handle the dead. Soldier insists that I stick with the wounded, and I don't fight him. I don't want to see the dead.

No one stops me as I move between the bodies, searching out those who are calling for help, trying to ignore those who are still and silent at my feet. Not even Ironhide approaches me. Right now, we're all one body, one group working toward one greater purpose; help those who need help. The Autobots are gently moving men inside the hangar. I stoop down beside a soldier, one who's maybe in his thirties. He's moaning in pain, and I can tell he's delirious. His leg is crushed by rubble, and he begs me for help.

"Shh," I tell him, choking on my voice. "It's okay, you're going to be fine."

Gently, carefully, I move small pieces of rubble, creating an opening, and get his leg out. He cries out. "Sorry," I gasp, "I'm so sorry. I know it hurts, but you're going to be okay, we'll make it stop…"

I manage to get him into a standing position; he's got most of his weight resting on me. Working together, he and I manage to get him inside the hangar and onto a gurney, where he's presumably taken to the infirmary. I jog back out, searching out more soldiers. I wonder how many there can possibly be.

The more dead I pass, the more sick I feel. I breathe deeply through my nose, wiping the water off my face, trying to ignore the feeling. I can't tell if the wetness on my face is tears or rain, and I don't care. This is all just too horrible for words—the things I'm seeing; the mangled bodies, the cries of pain… it sounds like I've died and gone to hell. The chorus of the damned, it seems, is singing just outside.

I wonder how many times my brother has seen something like this.

I crouch down beside another soldier, my bloody knees crying out in protest as they come into contact with oil-slicked ground. His face is very pale, his lips deathly white, his face burned on one side. He's shaking violently. I gently touch his forehead, and he closes his eyes.

This isn't me. I don't know what I'm doing. If I'd thought I was out of my element with the battle, I was sure as shit out of my element now. I don't know how to be kind, or gentle, or compassionate. I _used_ too, but the Decepticons had helped me to burn that side of me, and recovering it now, piecing it back together, was proving difficult. All I can do is cry softly and hold the soldier's hand as I help him to his feet.

"Thank you," he breathes once I've got him inside, and he reaches sup to cup my face with one hand before he's lead away on a gurney. All I can do is try not to let them see me cry.

It seems to take hours—in reality, it can't be more than a few minutes—to get everyone inside to be treated. And when that's done, I can't just sit still. I head outside into the rain with Soldier—whose name I finally learned is Roger Geary—and we clean up. We use hoses to wash away the gasoline and the oil, because rain alone won't do it. We clear some of the rubble and try to make a clear path for Optimus and Ratchet, when they return.

Basically, we keep busy, because none of us want to be left alone to think for too long.

"You did well," Roger says gruffly. We're all still wearing our helmets and vests, and our guns are strapped to our backs. In my white tank, torn yoga pants, and boots, I look more than a little ridiculous, but I don't care.

"Thanks," I rasp, my voice sore from the screaming. He grins at me.

"Screamed like a girl, though," he teases.

"That was scary as hell," I tell him, scratching at my chin straps. "Of course I screamed."

He just laughs, and I know that, in spite of the pain and tension and disaster, he's like my brother; he'll try and find some reason to laugh to get through the pain. The other soldiers are watching us now; Roger is doing a horrible impression of me, flapping his hands around like a scared little girl.

"I did _not_ do that!" I object, and the other soldiers all laugh.

"Yeah you did," one of them snickers. "Total girl."

I glare at them as they continue to laugh as Roger makes fun of me. But I have to laugh too, because I know they're right. I did look ridiculous; I did scream; I probably did flap my arms around, flustered, like a total _girl_. I'm bent over laughing as he does an impression of me shooting a gun, his aim going wild with the mock-recoil, pretending to squeal as I supposedly had.

I'm fine with being the butt of the jokes; after all, I _am_ the odd-man-out, the only girl in this group, the one who was new to this war stuff. And if they laughed at my expense, that was fine, as long as they were _laughing_.

"Did you see the way she carried the gun?" One of them laughs, wiping at his eyes as we continue to clean up whatever we can. "Who do you think you are? Scarface? _Say hello to my little friend_."

And we all start laughing; a couple of them clap their hands, reminding me of camouflage-clad, gun-carrying seals. I'm nearly breathless from the laughter, exhausted, my sides splitting. It feels good.

We continue to laugh and joke, eventually speculating on when Optimus, Lennox, and the others will be back. They laugh at my brother's eventual reaction to discovering me in these clothes, having been put at risk in a battle, and the more they talk about it the harder they laugh. Eventually, we start talking about the things _I_ had done, and they seem fascinated by my story. But, unlike before, none of them seem to hate me. They just nod along, and it's the strangest thing. I don't want to think too much of too little, but it's almost like there's a newfound camaraderie between us all. I remember Roger's face when he had first seen me today, thinking of me as nothing more than the treacherous Decepticon-girl. Maybe it had changed when I'd fought with them.

"Hey," one of them finally asks. "How'd you get out of your handcuffs?"

"Um—" I stammer, but there's no use lying. My hands have been free since the battle; it's pretty clear I'm not going to hurt anyone. And, now that I'm finally able to brag about my own secret triumph, I tell them all about it, and they're laughing again.

"Bobby Pins?" One of them, who's known as Snake Eyes, laughs. "For real?"

"Yeah, it's pretty easy once you get it," I say, smirking.

"Looks like we got us a Houdini on our hands, boys," Roger says sarcastically.

"Damn straight," I scoff.

After a few more minutes, we decide to head back inside and help out there. The boys, much to my horror, decide to send me into the infirmary to comfort the soldiers. It's something they've all seemed to agree on—that if it was them in bed, wounded, they'd want a woman's comfort rather than a man's. It's not a compliment—they don't mean _me_ specifically, just any woman. Something about a gentler energy.

I'd never turn them down, not now, of course, and I've always had a major soft spot for the military because of my dad. So I head inside to check up on and talk to the ones who have been patched up, listening to the doctors, helping out in any way that I can. And, as it turns out, they need a _lot_ of help. I have to hold legs down while they're bandaged, allow men to squeeze my hands to cope with pain—but none of it, I know, is as bad as what they're going through, so I shut up and deal with it. I don't complain once.

Sometimes, though, and only _sometimes_, it seems like—especially with the doctors and the soldiers in charge—it seems like this is all some sort of truce, temporary. I feel like, once Lennox gets back, once all is said and done, I'll be back in my handcuffs, back under surveillance. And, from what I've heard, Lennox will be back _soon—_in two or three days, maybe—and they were going as quickly as possible after having heard news of the attack on base.

It's fine, though. I hadn't really expected anything to change, and, as annoyed as I am, if they want to handcuff me later it's their decision. In the meantime, though, I plan on helping out however I can. I actually have to take a break a couple of times, though, just to throw up—the nerves and the anxiety and the stress and the _horror_ of it all gets to me, as humiliating as that is. I've thrown up twice, but luckily no one has really noticed or mentioned it.

I don't know how they do it—I really don't. This is the sort of thing they—the soldier and Autobots, I mean—do for a _living_. And for me, after just one battle, I'm throwing up, and I'm jumpy and a little emotional, and I basically just want to _murder_ Megatron already and get all this over with. But they're so calm, so noble. Some of them, the more badly wounded, are scared, yes, but they're handling it better than I am. I never let them see me cry, though; I stay strong for them. I wouldn't be able to stand myself if they saw me cry.

* * *

><p>I didn't sleep at all, that first night. The moans of the wounded kept me up, but even if they had been silent, I would have occupied myself. The Autobots are okay, and occasionally I glimpse one of them—dented and scratched, but whole and alive. Megatron hasn't contacted me, and I'm completely in the dark now. I have no idea what's going on.<p>

But it's fine. I'm glad, actually. I'm not stupid enough to think that he's left me alone. No, I know he's planning something. But at least this way I can focus all my attention on the soldiers. No one has tried to restrain me yet, and maybe it's because I'm helping, and they won't stop me as long as I'm doing more good than bad. But I'm not going to think about that now, I won't thing about the confrontation with Ironhide that's looming over my head.

It's still raining; I can hear the drizzle, the patter of the drops on the base all around us. I'm sitting in a chair beside one soldier, my hand slipped into his hot, sweaty one. I've been assigned the job of keeping him cool; folding damp cloths over his forehead periodically. He's running a slight fever, and his death-pale face is covered in a sheen of damp sweat. I swallow thickly and rub his arm gently as his eyes flicker around blindly beneath his lids.

I can only wonder what he's dreaming about. I wonder who he is, I wonder about his family, I wonder who is missing him and worrying about him right now. But thinking of it for too long makes me sick to my stomach again, so I have to stop. I settle for just rubbing his hand and, when he wakes up, stroking my fingers through his short hair, massaging his head. It's weird, but it's something _I've_ always enjoyed and found relaxing when done to me, and these guys, for the most part, enjoy it too.

He moans softly as I stroke my fingers over his eyelids, hushing him, telling him everything will be okay. I'm not sure if he believes me. I'm not sure if I believe me, either.

* * *

><p><strong>NOTE: Soooo…. Whatcha think? You likey? I likey! I just want to point out that, while Parker is strong and can do the whole one-on-one battle thing, she is DEFINITELY not the save-the-world, charge-into-a-war type. But, I think what she says about love really shows a nice change in her. And I think her reactions—the screaming and the things the soldiers were teasing her about—were probably fairly realistic to someone who'd never experienced something quite like that before. She has the training, but she lacks the experience, basically. <strong>

**I also like Parker's quick, conflicted feelings about the possibility of seeing Barricade die. Poor thing is still a little confused.**

**Review? I'll love you forever!**


	17. Chapter 17

**NOTE: I decided to bring Wheeljack in. I'm going to call him Wheeljack, because I don't like the way Que sounds. Hope that's cool. I think his addition to the story could lead to many funnies :)**

**Forgive typos, mkay? I read over it, but I'm sleepy, so I may have missed some things.**

**EDIT: Turns out I switched the make of the car, but left the name as Mirage. No idea how I managed to do that. I think I got it all fixed now, though. WHEELJACK is in the story, NOT MIRAGE.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 17<span>

_Savannah_

I have this long list things that I've never wanted to see, do, or hear about. Somewhere very close to the top of that list is _seeing_ my sister in a near war-zone, and just below that is _hearing_ that my sister is in a near war-zone. I have no idea if she was directly involved, or if she was hiding somewhere safe (God, I hoped she was hiding somewhere safe), or is she was hurt or killed.

We'd been on our way to the new Autobot when the call had come in; they were under attack. Ironhide had informed Optimus, and Lennox had gotten a frantic phone call. They'd told us not to turn back, though, told us to continue with our mission.

They'd told us they suspected Parker was to blame.

I know Lennox is furious; I can tell he's just about had it with her. And I'm angry with him for being stupid, for not _seeing_ that Parker wouldn't hurt anyone, but I also understand where he's coming from, even if he isn't seeing the right side. I'm too busy having a small heart-attack to care about any of this, however. I just hope she's okay. We're on our way back now, and we've been told the battle is over. We'd won, but we'd had casualties; a few had been wounded and some had been killed. We're all feeling a little sick, a little urgent.

"I swear," Lennox is seething, "if I found out she had _anything_ to do with this—that's it. God_ damn_ it!" His voice is raised to a shout. Optimus isn't saying anything; he's driving us back, breaking speed limits, being careful. Ratchet is in the rear, the new Autobot—someone named Wheeljack—safely between them. On the way back, he'd scanned a blue Mercedes-Benz; everything had already been explained to him, and now we were just trying to get him to base safely. We hadn't had any trouble with Decepticons—probably, we thought, because they were busy attacking base.

I can't stop tapping my fingers, tapping my feet, chewing on the insides of my cheeks, terrified of what we'll find. We're very close now; I can smell smoke, tangy and acrid, in the air, and my stomach clenches.

_Please let her be okay._

Lennox shoots me a look and I try to control my twitching. Finally the gates are in sight, and everyone around me lets out a sort of soft, awed sigh.

"Oh, shit," someone says. The gates are mangled, twisted. The concrete is cracked and destroyed beneath us; the cabin rumbles as Optimus drives carefully over it and through the mess of the gates. We're all very silent as we take in the carnage, and horror settles in my stomach, cold and bitter. The ground is still slicked slightly with oil—and there, just there, is a severed Decepticon arm. Their bodies, I noticed, haven't been moved. To our right is another one, a large body, and near the entrance to the hangar lies one that looks like a horrible metal tiger.

The rain patters down gently around us, sliding off Optimus's windshield, making the dead metal corpses shine. Parts of base are twisted and destroyed, unrecognizable, smoking and blackened. It's been a couple of days since the fight, and they're still smoking.

There are men out and about, cleaning up, still, but I don't see Parker anywhere, and I'm scared out of my mind. Optimus rolls to a stop and we all climb out. They're yelling that we're back, that we've returned, and we all sort of rush into the hangar which, surprisingly, doesn't look too damaged. Optimus transforms and meets with Ironhide, who tells him about the battle, listing the damages. Ratchet immediately gets to work on the ones who are more badly hurt, though none of them seem to have life-threatening injuries. Skids seems to be the worst, but that's to be expected; he was already injured.

I still don't see my sister. Wheeljack hangs back and transforms, and eventually he and Sideswipe and Bumblebee meet up, chatting, happy to see each other. But only one thought is running through my mind. _Where is she?_

I notice a couple of soldiers—Roger Geary and a few other guys—are all hanging back and watching me, almost smirking, and I can't understand it. There must be a strange look on my face, because they all start laughing quietly. But I'm trapped; I can't move, I can't leave, not without permission from Lennox, who is speaking, and I can't interrupt him.

It seems to take hours—hours full of walking and talking, and I can't pay attention to anything. Finally, we're led up to the computer area, which is the general meeting area in the hangar. Everything has been covered—the battle, finding Wheeljack, _everything_, and I still haven't seen her. But, finally, at least, they're talking about her and I tune in, standing straight and tall, trying to keep my face blank.

"How did they know to attack _today?_" Lennox questions. "How did they know Ratchet and Optimus would be gone? That's not luck."

"That's what I thought," says Major Beckett, who had been left behind and in charge. "At first, I mean, but we're not sure anymore. We need to talk to her."

Oh, thank God she's alive. They might still be suspicious, but she's alive. We can work through anything else. Lennox rubs his forehead, and Optimus is watching us carefully.

"Where is she?" Lennox and Optimus ask at the same time. Beckett glances between them as they glance at each other.

"The infirmary," Beckett says, and my heart sinks.

"Was she hurt?" Optimus asks, his voice concerned. My hands are clenched behind my back.

"No," Beckett says, "she's been with the boys who _have_ been hurt, though. They like having her around."

"Geary," Lennox snaps at the soldier nearest to him. Roger freezes.

"Yes, sir?"

"Go get Parker."

"Yes, sir." And he heads off toward outside.

"She's in the infirmary," Beckett says, but Geary shake his head. "No, sir," he says, "she went outside about an hour before they got here. She's been helping the men there."

Beckett nods and Geary takes off at a jog to find my sister. We all wait impatiently. Lennox's face is blank and careful. Beckett looks calm and collected, if slightly stressed out because of the battle. Optimus is waiting almost patiently, and though he tries to hide it, I can see the faintest signs of worry in his face. Ironhide is standing beside him, arms folded, looking as fierce as ever.

After what seems like an hour, Geary returns, and we all turn to face him. And the sight of her, of my sister, is so strange and absurd that I almost don't recognize her. She's wearing snug black yoga pants, the kind she likes to sleep in, and a thin white tanktop, which, because of the rain, I notice (and nearly have another heart attack for) has gone see through—her skin and bra are showing clearly through, but she doesn't seem to notice, and if she does, she doesn't care. I want to just fall over dead when I see she's got a gun strapped over her shoulder, just like Geary and the others do.

Somebody has some _serious_ explaining to do. When I found out who it was who gave her a gun, I will destroy them. What were they thinking? She doesn't need a _gun_—she's my _sister!_

As I watch, Geary leans down and whispers something in her ear, and she actually smiles. She's got an army vest draped over one arm, the muscles in her arm straining and shaking with the effort of holding it; I know how heavy it is. A helmet dangles from her other hand. As she gets closer, the smile slides from her face. Her dark, tired eyes flick anxiously over the Autobots, but there's something _different_ in her eyes. I wonder what changed.

And then she spots me. She gasps and runs over as best she can with the gun, vest, and helmet, and she tries to hug me but basically just ends up slamming into me, because she can't really use her arms. I wrap my arms around her; she _smells_, like sweat and metal and gasoline and sickness. I kiss her forehead, tasting rain and salt and dirt.

Her face is smudged and dripping blackness and filth, and she wipes it away with the back of her arm as I release her. But she's smiling; a huge, relieved smile, and her eyes are shining. She turns to Lennox and breathes his name, and then to Optimus, where she sort of stumbles over his name.

"I'm so glad you guys are okay," she breathes, but that's all she has time to say.

* * *

><p><em><span>Parker<span>_

Lennox's hands are on my shoulders, restraining me, removing the gun from my back.

"Would someone care to explain why, for the love of God, she is _armed?_" Lennox demands. Savannah looks like his head is about to explode.

I drop the vest and helmet, holding my hands up anxiously as Lennox removes it and hands it to someone else. I want to point out that I've been armed for three whole days and haven't shot anyone to death, but I manage to hold my tongue. But I'm tired, and I'm irritable, and I'm more than a little bitchy at the moment, and I know this probably won't end up well.

Lennox snatches my left wrist, looking at the handcuffs.

"Who let her out?"

"I let me out," I snap, jerking my hand away. "Your stupid handcuffs aren't all that hard to pick."

"Parker, calm down," my brother warns.

"Shut _up_, Savannah, just shut _up_." The relief I had felt at seeing them all alive and okay dissipates in the face of how Lennox is treating me now. I _fought_ for them! He tries to grab me again, but I jerk away furiously. "Let _go!_" I snarl. "Jesus _Christ_, I'm not going to kill anyone! _Get off my ass, Lennox!_"

"Parker, really, calm down—"

"Calm down," I say lowly, turning to face Savannah, inexplicably furious. I always get this way when I'm tired, and I haven't gotten more than four hours of sleep in three days. I'm more than a little sleepy. And stressed. And shell-shocked. "Calm _down?_ Don't tell me to _calm down!_ I'm so sick of being treated like a goddamned _terrorist_—everything was all fine and dandy, and then _you_ show up again, and—" I jab my finger at Lennox, who is watching me strangely.

"You want safe? Will this make you feel safer? _Fine_—" I snap the handcuffs over my wrist and thrust my hands in his face. "Feel better _now?_" I'm nearly panting with the sudden wave of rage, and it's already evaporating. I want to sleep. I just want to be left alone. I want to forget this battle ever happened. To my surprise, Roger steps forward and slings an arm around my shoulders; I resist the urge to bury my face in him.

"Cool it, kid," he says gently, and I nod, clenching my jaw. "She has a gun because she fought with us," he says, rubbing my shoulder. Optimus makes a soft spluttering sound, but I ignore him. "_Against_ the Decepticons. She held her own; she was very brave. We let her keep the gun because… well, no one really thought anything of it."

"You _fought_?" Savannah sounds slightly faint. "You actually—you _fought_—against _Decepticons?_"

"No," I drawl sarcastically. "See, what I actually did was _pretend_ to fight the Decepticons, when the whole time I was really shooting at our guys." I glare at him. "Can you at least _try_ not to be a dumbass?"

Savannah's eyes widen and he looks hurt. All of a sudden I want to start crying. I feel my shoulders slump.

"I'm sorry," I breathe. "I didn't mean that. I—I'm just tired, that's all."

"She's been through a lot," Roger says, and I start shaking my head.

"I'm fine," I say. "Really. I—I'm sorry. Ugh."

I run my chained hands over my face and rub at my eyes. I realize my hands are still shaking—they haven't stopped since the battle—and I clench them. I take a deep breath and stare up at Lennox and Optimus and Ironhide. Savannah starts laughing softly and I close my eyes, trying to crush the sudden wave of fury toward him.

"You PMS-ing, Park?" he asks, then immediately flinches as I reach for him to tear his face off. Roger grabs me by the waist, laughing, as Savannah smirks at me.

"I will _end_ you," I tell him very seriously.

"Can we focus?" Lennox asks, and everyone settles down. He looks at me very seriously.

"Parker," Optimus says, and I look up at him. It's the first time he's spoken to me directly since our fight. "Did you tell Megatron that we were leaving?" He asks like he already knows the answer. What is he expecting me to say? Yes?

"No," I breathe. "I didn't—I swear I didn't—"

He closes his eyes and Lennox takes over.

"The fact is," Lennox says, "that no one knows for sure. How can we believe you—"

"Lennox," Ironhide cuts in, "Barricade tried to kill her." I swallow thickly, staring hard at the ground. I don't want to remember that. Ironhide's voice is still apprehensive, like he's not willing to trust me just yet, like he's just stating facts. Lennox looks at me in a calculating fashion. "And I mean really tried, not like what he was doing when he found her. He meant it. And she did help destroy two more of them."

I won't look at any of them. Someone's hand falls down on top of my head, rubbing it gently.

"Lennox," I say softly after a moment, and everyone gets very quiet, listening to me. "I swear to you—I didn't tell him. I don't know how he knew—maybe he's been listening and I haven't noticed. But I _didn't_ betray you." My voice is wavering and I clear my throat. "I don't know what else to say to make you believe me, but…" I trail off, shaking my head. "I'm sorry. If he did listen, I'm so sorry. I can't—"

I raise my hands to my ear again, to the studs and fight with them. They start whining, that painful, high-pitched shriek, and they dig into my skin. I try to power through the pain, but finally Lennox reaches up a hand stops me; there's a tiny bit of blood on my fingertips.

"I think he knows," I go on. "That I'm not on his side anymore. He has to know. That's why he sent Starscream to meet me, that day. He must've thought it was a trap. And that's why Barricade tried to kill me—he _knows_."

And if he knows, I'm as good as dead. Lennox drops my hands and I stare up at him, then up at Optimus and Ironhide.

"We need to talk," Lennox says, and it takes me a minute to realize that he's talking to Roger and Optimus and Savannah and those who were involved in the battle. Then he looks at me, his expression still hard and serious. I just stare listlessly back.

"Parker—were you _hurt?_"

"Don't have a heart attack," I sigh, turning to face my brother. "Yeah, I got a little banged up. It was a _battle_." I see that he's staring at the red lines on my legs, a vein pulsing in his forehead.

"Has anyone looked at those?" I glance down at them, using my fingers to poke at them and open them slightly; they aren't too deep. Blood beads.

"No," I say, shrugging. "Everyone's focusing on the people who are, you know, actually _hurt_."

"Oh Jesus Christ," he runs a hand over his head.

"It's fine."

We stare at each other for a moment before he finally just shakes his head. "You're such a pain in the ass."

"Focus," Lennox says again, his eyes scanning my injuries; the lacerations on my thigh, the skinned knees and elbows and shoulders, and the tiny cuts on my face, neck, arms, and chest from the glass. Nothing too serious.

"Everything here's been taken care of," Beckett informs him. "We should probably relocate, though, just to be safe."

"They probably won't attack again," I say abruptly. "I mean—they lost this battle."

"Or," Ironhide counters, "they return with greater numbers."

I shrug. This isn't my place. Beckett starts speaking again. "The wounded are being looked after, and…"

I kind of zone out now. I'm so tired, I feel like I could fall asleep standing up. I kind of stumble against Roger, who steadies me with a light laugh. I shake myself awake, staring blearily at Optimus's gigantic feet. I don't know why, but something about the sheer _size_ of his feet makes me want to giggle. I slip my hands over my mouth, biting my lip, and Savannah gives me an odd look.

Oh, God, I'm delirious. I've never gone so long without sleep, and on top of that I'm physically _and_ mentally exhausted, and stressed out, and just _worried_. I can't stop thinking about the wounded soldiers; some of them are in bad condition. I need to get moving, I realize, I need to work. Standing still is giving me too much time to think. Keeping busy these last three days, I haven't had time to think about it.

I realize I'm trembling violently, a trembling that hasn't stopped since the attack. I feel suddenly very clammy and sweaty. I close my eyes and try to breathe deeply, furious with myself. _Come on, Parker,_ I tell myself. _Don't do this. Don't be weak, not now._

But I can't help it. From the other room I hear a soldier cry out, and it sounds like he's screaming in my ear. One of the Autobots behind us drops something, and it falls to the ground with a loud, horrible clang. I flinch, thinking of the gunshots, and everyone notices.

"Parker," my brother says, and it sounds like he's speaking from very far away. "You don't look so good."

"'m fine," I mumble, and my stomach twists and I gasp. "I'm gonna puke," I gasp, and all of a sudden a strong arm is around my shoulders, leading me away a few steps before I lose it. I haven't eaten much, so all that comes out is bile. When I'm done, I'm humiliated. I stand, making sure I'm clean, and Roger rubs my back.

I really like Roger. He's a good guy.

When I turn around, everyone is staring at me, men and robots alike. I give them a look.

"What?" I snap.

"Parker," Savannah says.

"I'm fine. Seriously. Leave it alone." He looks me up and down briefly, and I thank God he knows me so well; he lets it go. I glance around at them, at all their faces. "Can I go, please?" I ask. "I can't—can't just stand here. Please."

"What are we going to do with her?" Ironhide rumbles. It's clear that he still doesn't trust me, but he is a warrior, and we fought together.

"Parker," Lennox says, "you go back into the infirmary. Get some food in you, get yourself checked out. Okay? We're going to figure out what to do with you."

By this point, I don't have the energy to feel angry. I just give him a long look. "I didn't tell him," I murmur again. "Lennox—I didn't tell him." There's a small hitch in my voice now, and Lennox claps a hand down on my head. Not exactly affectionately, but its progress. He pushes me toward the infirmary and I walk away, grateful to have something to do.

I won't get myself looked at, of course, not when there are people with worse injuries who need to be looked after. So I sit myself down in a chair beside a soldier, who smiles when he sees me. He glances at my cuffs.

"They got you again?" he asks, and I grin at him.

"Yeah," I sigh. He touches my face, and I squeeze his hand. "How are you?"

"Better, now that I've got a pretty face to look at," he teases, and I roll my eyes at him**.**

* * *

><p>An hour or so has passed when Roger comes in to get me. I'm so tired I can barely stand, but I go with him. He leads me up the stairs to the raised platform; Optimus is there, eye-to-eye with us, the same group as before. I look at them expectantly, wonder what has been decided. My brother comes to stand beside me.<p>

"So…" I start.

"It was a choice," Lennox starts, "between having you labeled officially as a traitor to your country—" I wince "—as a prisoner of war, or as… a refugee." Lennox scratches his head. I'm not exactly any of these options. I chew my lip. "Given the circumstances, we decided to keep you on as a refugee."

My mouth opens slightly, and my eyes sting. _"Really?"_ I breathe. This is better than anything I could have hoped for. I'm too stunned to smile.

"Yes," Lennox says. "You can thank Optimus and Roger for that—your brother's opinion was too biased. We talked to others, too, and they all were on your side—for the most part, anyway." I exhale heavily. Lennox reaches for my hands and unlocks the cuffs. "These don't seem to be very useful, anyway, now that you can escape from them."

"Lennox, I—"

"Don't get too excited," he says. "You're still going to be watched, and we still don't entirely trust you. But—for now, we believe that—" he seems to struggle saying this next part "—that you didn't betray us. Not this time, at least."

He seems like he's done speaking. Everyone's still tense, but Roger and my brother are grinning at me. Savannah elbows me.

"You should've heard the stories he told us," he laughs, and I narrow my eyes at Roger.

"You didn't."

"I did," he shrugs with a laugh. "Funniest thing I seen in a long time."

I groan and roll my eyes, but then I'm hugging Savannah, happy for this little bit of progress, at least. Then I turn to Optimus, wondering where we stand.

"Thank you," I tell him earnestly. I wouldn't have expected him to vouch for me, if that's what he'd done.

"We," he says in his deep voice, "need to talk." I quail at the thought, but nod. He glances at the soldiers surrounding us. "If you're finished," he tells them, and Lennox nods and they dissipate. Savannah gives me a stern look, one that tells me I'm in for a lecture later, and I roll my eyes at him. When they're gone, Optimus clears his throat.

"You look tired," he begins.

"I'm fine."

"You're _not,"_ he counters, and my temper flares.

"What do you want?" I ask him, struggling to act sane. This could be it—a new beginning. It may be my chance to fix things. I sigh.

"What you did was very brave," he says after a long span of silence. This is difficult for him, I can see that. I swallow convulsively.

"Optimus," I breathe. Damn it, why does he have this effect on me? "Listen—I'm _sorry_. I just—" I don't know what to say. I've already told him how much I miss him. My eyes flick up to his suddenly. "Can we start over?" I reach for his hand, curled around the railing, but he moves it before I can touch it. But I refuse to be hurt. I've been hurt already. I'm not going to beg him, I tried that already, and I refuse to be needy. I'm too tired to be angry. All I can really do is wait for him to speak.

"You cannot change what happened," he says.

"I know."

He sighs heavily. "I don't know," he says slowly, sounding pained, "what to do with you."

I shrug. "You made your decision already," I remind him. He nods.

"It is difficult, being without you," he confesses after another long pause. I don't say anything. My head is starting to pound. "But—"

"Do you think it was easy?" I snap suddenly, heart pounding. I'm still shaking. Why won't it go away? "Do you? Do you think I enjoyed it, once I started to love all of you? Do you think I didn't stay awake, every night, beating myself up over what I was doing, over the fact that you, especially, were still hurting—and that every time, every _time_ you called me Carmen it didn't break my heart? Is that what you want to hear?"

I run my hands through my hair, rounding on him again. "Every time you looked at me, you saw someone—someone else, someone _better_, someone right and—and _good_—and you don't think I wanted to be her? I wanted _so badly_ to be her. But I'm not—_I'm not her_—and the sick thing is that I still want to be her. I want to be the girl I saw in your eyes when you looked at me, but _I'm not her. _I'll never be her." I'm seething now, and he's watching me, brows drawn. "And _you—you _made it so much harder. Because you're so _good_, Optimus, you're so goddamned _good_—"

"Parker," he cuts in gently, and I stop speaking, wrapping my arms around my body. The harshness in his face and tone from last time is lacking. He's just—calm. I look up at him, still shaking, my head spinning. "Stop," he says firmly, and I glare at him.

"It is hard for me," he goes on, "because I miss you—we all miss you—but you shattered our faith in you."

"_I know._"

"But after today… they all saw you fight," he says heavily, "and you've healed some of that damage for them."

"What about you? Optimus, where do _we_ stand?" He sighs again, watching me, his glowing blue eyes flickering over my face.

"I don't know."

"Let's start over," I say firmly. "From the beginning."

"We can't," he says tiredly.

"Sure we can." I take a step forward and stumble slightly; my legs are so tired. I lean heavily on the rails. I stick my hand out to him. "Hi," I say, "I'm Parker Rook."

It takes him a moment, and then he raises his hand so that I can grasp his finger. "Optimus Prime," he says, and that simple statement, just his name, is all I need.

"We can fix this, Optimus Prime," I say. "We can."

He just watches me. "I hope you're right."

* * *

><p><strong>NOTE:<strong> **More closure in the next chapter. She's going to meet Wheeljack, too. I decided to bring him back because, like I said, he could lead to many future funnies and, as Lunar Mist pointed out, he may be more willing to forgive her. And I think right now, we don't really need much more conflict. It's time to start healing.**

**Poor Parker is SO EXHAUSTED. Poor thing. Also, in the next chapter, you guys will get more of the reaction you were expecting from Savannah-he nearly has a heart attack lecturing her.  
><strong>

**Reviews? The move you review, the faster I'll post. And two in one day is a lot for me… ;p**


	18. Chapter 18

**NOTE: Wheeljack has a British accent, right? ;) At least in the movie, and on his Wiki page it says he did.**

**Also: Someone asked me if there's going to be a "thing" between Roger and Parker, because they seemed cute together. This **_**is**_** an Optimus/Parker story, so I was just planning on Roger being her friend, like a buddy. Besides, they're in the military; it's hardly the place for romance. It's going to be hard enough for Optimus and Parker! ;p I'm glad you guys like Roger, though, and I'm seriously LOVING all the LOVE you guys have for Savannah!**

**Funnies with Wheeljack ahead :p remember, he's new to human culture.**

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 18<span>

We talk for a little while. It isn't like it used to be, but at this point, I'm taking what I can get. We don't talk about the Decepticons. Mostly, we talk about this last week, me reliving the elation I'd felt when I'd first escaped the handcuffs. My heart soars when this actually gets a chuckle out of him. I've missed that sound. And even though I'm dead on my feet, I can't make myself break away from him to sleep. These moments are too precious to me.

We talk a little bit about his mission, but there's not much to say. It had run smoothly, aside from the attack here. My head is still pounding, a searing, sharp pain behind my eyes, and my body still hasn't stopped trembling. I get the spins a couple of times, a sensation I haven't felt since I'd been drunk one time in high school years ago. It's really unpleasant, and it makes me want to throw up, but my body is running on empty.

Optimus prompts me a couple of times to get my "wounds" checked out, and I scoff, telling him a couple of scraped knees are hardly life-threatening. I'm still waiting for the lecture I'm bound to get, and I just hope I've had some sleep before it comes.

The other bots eventually transform into their robot-forms, and a low murmur fills the hangar. A couple of soldiers come in and hang back to watch me. I give Optimus a questioning look.

"Can… can I see them?" I ask hopefully, nodding toward the twins. Skids is propped against a wall, resting, arms crooked behind his head. Mudflap is standing beside him.

"If you wish," he says, and I stumble down the stairs, nearly landing on my face as I reach the ground, and I rush up to them. I haven't been able to talk to them since the battle three days ago, and I want to talk to Skids, to thank him for saving me from Barricade.

I approach him carefully; his eyes are closed. I place one hand gently on his foot, and as I do, everyone else falls silent, watching us. I rub his foot softly to get his attention. He blinks open his blue eyes and focuses on me, and for a second we just stare at each other.

"Hi," I rasp softly. He doesn't say anything; everyone's eyes are on me. "Um," I try again, rubbing the back of one arm. _God_, my head _hurts_, and my ears are ringing. If I close my eyes and stay quiet long enough, I can hear the battle replaying in my head. "I wanted to thank you… for getting Barricade off me. He would have killed me if you hadn't, and I know you were made at me, so, thanks."

He blinks a couple of times, then leans forward, reaching his hands toward me and grabbing me around the waist so that my legs dangle; I feel like a doll in his hands.

"We look out fo' who we love," he says tiredly, repeating the phrase he'd said to me once a long time ago. I smile and fight back the tears, stroking his hands. Silence envelops us as he draws me into his chest, patting my head gently with one finger, making a low humming noise. I'm so glad I have him. He'd never been as angry as the others in the first place, and I'm hoping that maybe I can rebuild my relationship with him, too.

I press my face against his metal chest, kissing it gently; he looks startled at the action, but something like affection creases his face just slightly. I scratch my nails over the armor.

"I love you, Skids," I mumble tiredly. I glance over my shoulder at Mudflap, who is watching us, arms folded, looking comically emotional; like he's touched, but trying to fight it. "I love you, too, Mudflap," I tell him with a small smile. He sniffs dramatically.

"I been missin' you," he says, trying to keep his voice gruff. "But what you did was _wrong_, Roadkill."

_Roadkill_. I've never in my life been happier to hear them call me by that name.

"I know," I tell him, my voice shaking. "Can you forgive me? Just give me another chance, and I swear, I'll make it better."

The twins look at each other; Skids looks more forgiving than Mudflap, but even his resolve crumbles.

"Dat's what friends do, Mudflap," Skids says, holding me out to him. I'm reminded of the way a child would hold a kitten out to his mother, begging, _Can we keep it? _"Dey fo'gives," he continues. "An' jus' look at 'er cute lil face!"

I put on my very best sad, puppy-dog eyes. Mudflap looks away sternly. "Don' be lookin' at me like dat," he tells me, and I bite my lower lip, looking up at him from beneath my lashes. He throws his arms up in the air. "_Fine_," he says, "but yous gon' hafta work."

I'm so excited that I actually squeal; and I am _not_ the squealing type. Skids draws me into his chest again, stroking my head. At the sound of my squeal, though, one of the Autobots jerks, looking startled; I realize this must be the new one. He turns around and stares at me, as though trying to figure out how I made the sound, and I'm so exhausted that the insane urge to giggle rises up within me at the sight of him. He looks like Albert Einstein. A robotic Einstein.

"Well," he says in a lilting British accent, "who have we here?" And then he reaches for me. Skids's hand tightens just for a moment before Einstein snatches me from him, holding me curiously to his face, his bright eyes scanning all over my body. "I've never seen one up close before," he says, tilting his head to one side. His fingers are almost rough on my body; he squeezes me experimentally and I squeak in pain.

"Ah," he says, "delicate, I see." He lifts up my shirt curiously and I gasp, pushing his hands down. He chuckles softly to himself as I squirm, tilting me this way and that giving me a thorough inspection. I scream as he nearly drops me, catching me by an ankle and dangling me in front of his face. "Incredible," he says, seeming _way_ too excited over me. "Optimus, is this the girl everyone's been fussing over?"

I curl up in something like a crunch, my fingernails struggling for a hold on his metal finger.

"Gently, Wheeljack," Optimus warns. I glance at him from my upside-down position as my hands slip and I swing to and fro. Bumblebee is laughing, and Optimus slides his hand under me in case I fall. Wheeljack flips me up with a sharp flick of his wrist, holding me in one hand. I'm splayed out on the metal, my arms wrapped around his thumb.

I am _way_ too tired for this.

I try to stand, but he pokes me in the chest; too hard, though, and I land on my butt and slide over the edge of his hand, fingernails scraping. All at once Bumblebee, Optimus, and Sideswipe surge forward to catch me; even Ironhide leans forward slightly, urgently. But Wheeljack catches me before any of them, laughing to himself.

"_Incredible,"_ he says again, now holding me in both hands like a ragdoll, bringing me very close to his face. White tendrils stick out from the sides of his head, glowing slightly, looking like hair. He looks manic, a little crazy. My heart is hammering. "So tiny," he goes on, "without any natural armor, and yet—look at her! Alive and well, for—how old are you?"

"Twenty," I gasp as he squeezes me a little too tight.

"Twenty years!" He seems amazed. Optimus rubs his forehead.

"Be careful with her, Wheeljack," Optimus says. Wheeljack continues to inspect me, and Bumblebee is still laughing. Ironhide looks smug. He holds me flat in one palm and tries to life my shirt again, pinching the fabric delicately between his fingers.

"What _is_ this?" he asks curiously and I try to push his hand away.

"It's a shirt," I tell him, folding my arms over my chest.

"Yes, but what is the _function_, what purpose does it serve?"

"It keeps me from being naked?" I say dumbly.

"What is wrong with nakedness?" He seems to be talking to himself.

"Humans are uncomfortable with nakedness, Wheeljack," Ironhide says.

"Why?" he questions, reaching for my shirt again. I try to wiggle away. "Hold _still_, now, child," he says, pinching my shirt again and curling his hand around my lower body, effectively tugging the white tank off. I'm shocked. I'm wearing a bra, so I'm not _too_ embarrassed, but who _is_ this guy?

"Ah, yes, here we go," Wheeljack says, holding me flat in his palm again. I'm splayed on my back, propped up on my elbows, heat flooding my face. He glances at my body, then at the tank dangling from his huge fingers; I wear a size large, and in his hands it may as well be a size micro. Then he glances back at my body and pokes my stomach with a finger, then pokes my chest thoughtfully. He looks back at the shirt, seemingly more interested in _it_ than in my soft body, and drops me almost carelessly. Optimus catches me quickly, looking somewhere between amused and exasperated.

The soldiers on the ground, my "guards," are laughing. Wheeljack, looking at my shirt, wonders aloud what it is made of. The soldiers are cracking up, and at the sound, Wheeljack reaches for them. The laughter immediately cuts short and they yelp, taking off. Wheeljack catches one of them, though, and handles him much the same way he handled me. He gives the soldier a thorough inspection, talking to himself about their weapons and armor, muttering about the differences between our sexes.

The soldier looks at me helplessly and I just smirk, leaning over the side of Optimus's hand, my legs folded beneath me as I watch.

"Not so fun now, is it?" I ask him as he struggles to get away from the gigantic robot.

"Wheeljack," Optimus says sternly, taking pity on the poor man. "Put him down."

Wheeljack looks put out, but sets the man on the ground. He's still fascinated by my shirt, stretching it experimentally, going so far as to sniff it. He seems intrigued by the fact that it's only purpose is to cover the body; it's not a weapon, not armor. To him, it's pretty useless.

I'd originally planned on talking to all the bots, apologizing to them all and asking for forgiveness and a second chance, but that doesn't seem like it's going to happen anytime soon. Still, though, I cans sense that something has changed. Ironhide clearly doesn't like me still, but I think that has something to do with the fact that he is Optimus's friend and bodyguard, and I'd been a threat to him. But Ironhide and I had fought side by side, against the same enemies, and he _is_ a warrior—so I think that did something for him, where I'm concerned.

Sideswipe had seemed to hate me less in the beginning, and we'd never been close to begin with. He'd never been outright mean to me, not like the others. Bumblebee, on the other hand, I had been closer too. Not as close as I had been with the twins, but Bumblebee, I think, had viewed me as something of a pet—not in the sense that Megatron had, of course. I still wanted to talk to them.

Wheeljack is looking at me again with rapt attention. "Oh, no you don't," I say as he reaches for me. I squirm away in Optimus's hand, but he's too quick. He snatches me up before anyone can save me. I feel like I want to cry again, just because I'm so exhausted, and I'm still shaking. Wheeljack notices.

"Why are you shaking?" he asks me, seemingly concerned. "I haven't frightened you, have I? I didn't mean to! Here, have your clothing back." He allows me to tug on my shirt, but the shaking doesn't subside. "Ratchet," Wheeljack says, "you may want to have a look at this girl."

"I'm fine," I tell him as he squeezes me tightly again, squeezing all the air out of my lungs.

"Wheeljack!" Optimus's voice is harder now, more commanding. "Put the girl down."

Again, he looks put out, but sets me gently on the floor. I jump as Ratchet scans me, listing out my injuries: Lacerations, contusions, scrapes, dehydration, exhaustion, stress, possibly shock. He states that my trembling may be from exhaustion, but is more than likely the aftereffects of the battle I'd faced. As my first one, he says, it is natural that I should be shell-shocked, which is his general diagnosis: _shell-shocked._

He says it's normal, but asks me how long it's been since I've had sleep. I rub my eyes, hating all the attention. I didn't come here for this. I need to _talk to them_.

"I've gotten four hours the last three days," I say, "but I'm fine. Really. I didn't even do anything extreme, so I'm not shell-shocked—"

"Regardless," he says clinically, "you went though something fairly traumatic, and psychologically—"

"You fought well," Ironhide cuts in, his tone musing. I'm floored by this—was that a _compliment?_ "Who trained you?"

"Barricade, mostly," I say. He nods to himself, his eyes still hard and closed off, but he looks calculating.

"It was obvious that she'd been trained," he says to Optimus and Ratchet and Wheeljack, who'd missed the battle. "But it was painfully obvious that she lacked experience."

"Hey!" I snap, thinking he's making fun of me. "I didn't even scream like they said—"

"You did," he counters, "but that is not the point. She fought well," he continues, "and it was clear she'd gotten some training, however feeble. She may make a valuable asset, considering just who trained her. She'd be able to use their own tactics against them."

"_Certainly not!"_ This comes from Optimus, and I flinch at the suddenness and loudness and sharpness of his tone. He glances down at me. "She does not need to be involved in our wars, Ironhide."

"I'm just saying that, tactically, she could be helpful." He shrugs. "It would be interesting, in any case, to see what it is they taught her."

Optimus is shaking his head, but I'm nodding, eager to prove myself. "I can show you," I say. "I'll show you everything."

"No," Optimus says firmly. "You will _not_ fight another battle."

I sigh heavily and roll my eyes, ignoring him. I turn to Ironhide. "I learned from Alice, too," I tell him, "mostly hand-to-hand combat, because she was more my size. But Barricade taught me some things. I'd love to show you."

"She doesn't have to fight, Optimus," Ironhide says.

"What was that move," Sideswipe asks curiously; it's the first time he's spoken. "When you seemed to jump over Barricade when he tried to hit you?"

"He taught it to me," I say, "it was hard at first—it still is—but it—I can show you," I urge.

"Optimus," Ironhide prompts, "she avoided being killed by Barricade; she knew to stay under him so that she could outmaneuver him. It might ease your mind, some, seeing what she knows." Ah, I think, so _there_ lies his true purpose behind all of this.

"Optimus, come _on_," I sigh. "Let me do it. Maybe I can show you something _good_."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Ironhide says roughly. "You weren't that good. You managed to stay alive, that's all."

"Oh, what_ever_," I sigh. "I'm not a soldier, I _know_ that."

Optimus is shaking his head, like he doesn't see what Ironhide is saying. Ironhide doesn't want to turn me into a soldier, I know that. But he wants to see what I know—as a warrior himself, it's only natural, especially after we'd fought together. And, if Optimus was worried about me, as Ironhide suggested, it made sense to ease his mind in showing that I could, essentially, handle myself. And I _can_ handle myself. Like Ironhide said: I lacked experience, but I had the _ability_, and though I would never dream of regularly taking part in battles, maybe I could provide them with useful information, maybe something new.

"Think about it, Prime," Ironhide urges. "It does make sense. Think about it logically."

Optimus sighs heavily. "You are right," he says, then looks down at me. "I am curious to see just what you've been taught." I grin. Maybe, just _maybe_, this will win Ironhide over. Maybe I'll earn some respect, from a warrior's standpoint. If I can show them that I really _can_ handle myself… my heart soars.

"Just try not to scream anymore," Ironhide says, giving me a look. "I could hear you above the battle. Constantly."

I glare, and Bumblebee starts laughing; the twins and Sideswipe laugh, too. I narrow my eyes slightly.

"I'll mention it to Lennox," Optimus finally says. Ironhide looks pleased.

"We'll be able to see what the Decepticons think qualifies as training," he says, sounding smug, as though he knows his own training is far better. I just shrug; he might be right. And then I see this for what it really is, in a way. I've piqued Ironhide's curiosity. This is a challenge, in some ways.

"I'll do it," I say again. "Just say the word."

"She should get some sleep," Ratchet says sternly. "This girl is exhausted, and she isn't used to this sort of thing."

"I'm _fine_," but they all know it's a lie. Even as I'm standing here, I've got another bad case of the spins. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to center myself. "Look," I say, opening my eyes. "I didn't come down here for a doctor, or to—to be _molested_—" I give Wheeljack a pointed look "—I came down here to talk to you guys." I swallow and glance up at them, my eyes flickering between Ratchet, Bumblebee, Ironhide, and Sideswipe.

"I wanted to apologize, again," I say, "and I want… I want a second chance, if you can find it in yourselves to give it to me." I have to fight to make my voice strong, to fight the sleepy edge off. "I know I screwed up, and I don't know how else to say it to you guys. But I _am_ sorry, and I just—I want to start over."

I glance quickly at Optimus, using the same phrase I'd used on him. I want to start over. They're all watching me carefully, something of an edge in their eyes, but they're not as hostile as they were before. Bumblebee suddenly crouches down in front of me, his radio crackling to life.

"_I don't do second chances," _his radio says, probably a line from some movie. The woman delivers the line with attitude before the radio crackles and more voices take over, _"But you are my friend—I never make the same mistake twice—this is your last chance, pal."_ The last line sounds like it comes from an old movie. I smile up at him.

"So is that a yes?" I ask him, and he nods slowly. I smile so hard my face hurts, and he makes a soft whirring noise. I reach up and pat his cheek. "Thanks," I tell him, then release him as he stands, hands on his hips, looking at the others. When none of them speak, he shoves Sideswipe, giving him an expectant look.

"I told you before," Sideswipe says, glaring at Bumblebee, "while what you did was _wrong_—make no mistake of that—I respect what you went through for your brother; you didn't know any better."

That's all he says, and I'm not entirely sure what to make of it. I glance at Ratchet. "I don't trust you," he says sternly, his voice hard. "And we are not friends. But I won't be cruel to you."

Okay, it could be worse. I look at Ironhide now, watching him carefully, waiting for his words. I'm sure they won't be nice, and I probably don't want to hear them, but I _need_ to.

"You lost my respect when you betrayed us," he says, "and when you ran from us like a coward." I know he's referring to the flower shop incident. "However, for an inexperienced little girl, you fought valiantly against the Decepticons, and I respect _that_." He pauses. "If Prime forgives you, then fine. I won't be cruel. But mark my words," he leans in very close to my face, and I notice the scar on one of his eyes. I fight the urge to lean away. "You walk on thin ice, girl. One more mistake, and I will end you personally."

I nod quickly as he straightens up, and I take a couple of steps back, colliding with Wheeljack's leg. He looks down at me and I dart behind one of his feet, where he can't reach me. He tries again, but I stay beneath him, carefully evading his grasping fingers.

"Leave her be, Wheeljack," Optimus says, then, to my surprise, reaches a hand down toward me. I look at his face tentatively. I'm still trying to rebuild my relationships with all of them, taking it slowly. I know I'm going to have to work, and I hadn't expected Optimus to want to hold me again so quickly.

"Are you sure?" I murmur, glancing up at his face. He nods, and I shakily climb onto his hand.

"You _are_ shaking," he murmurs, keeping me out of Wheeljack's reach. Wheeljack clearly wants to hold me again. Everyone continues to watch us for a moment before returning to the conversations they'd been having before I'd disturbed them. This had gone far better than I'd expected. I'll have to work to get back with Skids and Mudflap, but that's fine. I'll work harder for them than anything I've ever worked for in my life. As for the others, I'm glad they'd accepted my apology, in their own ways. I suspect the battle had a lot to do with it.

I just can't believe Optimus is holding me again; this is a feeling far better than anything else I'd felt in a long time. I feel safe here, in his hands. They aren't clawed, not like Starscream's and Megatron's. They won't hurt me, they won't dig into my skin and poke holes in my sides; the old wounds throb slightly just thinking about it. I sit down in his hand, leaning against the swell of his palm, my eyes drooping. I'm getting delirious again. I want to tell him about his hands. I tuck my head against my shoulder, somehow comfortable on the metal. I'm so exhausted, though, that I could sleep on a bed of nails and be fine.

"Optimus," I mumble, tracing my fingers on his hand.

"What is it?"

"You…" I blink a couple of times, trying to grasp my slippery thoughts. "You have… gentle hands." He curls his fingers in slightly, and I touch the gentle tips. "They don't hurt," I mumble sleepily.

"Perhaps I should set you down," he says, "so that you can return to your room and rest."

I sit up. I want to cry again, just from the sheer exhaustion. I squeeze my eyes shut to stem the flow of tired tears. One of them sneaks out from the corner of one eye and I wipe it away quickly.

"If that's what you want," I rasp, "then that's fine. But it's not necessary." Part of me wants to stay here; what better way to show them that I trust them, too, when be sleeping in front of them, completely vulnerable? My body can't take this much more.

"Her body will start to shut down before much longer," Ratchet warns. "The human body can't last long without sleep. If she doesn't get it, her body will _make_ her get it."

Optimus sighs as I slump against this hand. I'm too tired to even be uncomfortable with this show of weakness. My body is still trembling, and Optimus lays his other hand over the top of me carefully, sandwiching me between them.

"Somebody find her brother," he says, but he sounds very far away. I'm already gone.

* * *

><p><em><span>Savannah<span>_

When I enter the hangar, I almost immediately spot my sister. She's sprawled out on Optimus's hand, one of her hands dangling over the edge, one arm crooked beneath her head. Optimus is holding her uncomfortably, as though he isn't quite sure what to do with the sleeping girl in his palm.

"What did you _do_ to her?" I demand, looking at her. "She looks _dead!_"

"She's fine, I assure you," Optimus says, dropping down on one knee and lowering his hand. "Just exhausted."

I'm surprised she made it this long, in all honesty. Roger had crashed about an hour ago; he'd been dead on his feet, too. And my sister had looked horrible, her normally dark skin pale and taut, her eyes bruised-looking and exhausted. I don't think she'd ever stopped trembling, and I knew why; I'd had the same reaction after my first battle, too.

"Did you talk to her?" I ask Optimus dumbly. Of course he did. He nods. "And?" I prompt.

"It is difficult," Optimus says, "but we agreed to—to _start over._ I believe that was the phrase she used."

Sounded like her. I nod and walk closer to his hand, which is only a couple of feet above the ground now. He lowers it completely, and I climb on, situating my arms beneath my sister. I half-expect her to wake up like she did hearing my voice last time, but she doesn't move. I slip one arm beneath her legs, and Optimus shifts his hand, making it easier for me to slide my other arm under her shoulders.

"Careful," Optimus says, "do not wake her."

I give him an odd look. Who is _he_ to tell me what to do with _my_ sister? He'd hurt her, after all, but I refuse to point that out. I don't say anything. Instead I lift her, grunting softly; she's _heavy!_ I wouldn't have expected it. Parker's never been _small_ or perfectly _slender_—her body had always fallen on the _curvy_ side of the line. She isn't hard to carry, though, not really, especially considering the fact that I can bench and squat around 350.

I jostle her slightly, my fingers digging briefly into her sides, hopefully avoiding the punctures there. I sling one of her arms around my neck, and for a moment I actually have to stop to make sure she's breathing, she's so out of it, dead to the world.

"Night, guys," I call to them as I carry her out of the room. Her guards follow me as I carry her through base, up to her room, finally laying her down on her bed. I stand there for a moment and watch her carefully, feeling a mix of rage and grief as I look at her. Her face is still smudged and dirty; she really needs a shower and some new clothes.

Since she's sleeping, I decide to look her over; I know she hasn't gotten her wounds checked out, so I want to make sure they aren't too bad. Her yoga pants are sliced open on one side, the same side as the bruised hip she'd shown me; the skin there is red and inflamed, with three long slices curving over her strong thighs. I sit down on the bed beside her and touch the skin there, looking at the cuts; thankfully, they aren't deep, and they don't look infected, just sore. They _might_ need stitches, but I'm no doctor.

I sigh, my head pounding as I grab her hand and inspect her arms; both elbows are skinned, as is one forearm. The knees of her pants are ripped, and one shoulder is bruised, light purple, the skin there red and raw. Her face, neck, chest, and arms all sport a bunch of tiny nicks, and as I inspect them, I find glass still stuck in a couple.

Oh, God help me, I am going to kill someone. I have a sneaking suspicion that it was Roger Geary who suited her up and let her fight; apparently, he'd hardly let her out of his sight the whole battle. And I hate, I _hate_ hearing the stories about her. Most of them are funny, but that doesn't make them any less horrifying.

Why, oh _why_ hadn't she just hidden like a normal goddamned civilian? I sweep some hair out of her face almost angrily. Because she's _Parker_, that's why, and Parker never, ever does the smart thing. And one of Parker's biggest strengths is also one of her biggest flaws: Parker _loves_, she feels _deeply_, and while I'm glad that Megatron hadn't truly crushed it out of her, I'm annoyed at what it does to her. It makes her reckless. It had been her love for me that had gotten her here in the first place, and that hadn't exactly turned out well.

I reach down and pull her boots off of her feet; her ankles both pop softly as I do, and I smile. I peel off her smelly, damp socks and tuck her in carefully so as not to wake her. I reach down and touch her face, then lean over and press a kiss to her forehead.

"I love you, Parker," I tell her. She twitches in her sleep and I pull away, but other than that, she's still practically dead. I don't want this life for her, I don't want her fighting with wars and befriending psychotic aliens and shooting guns and getting hit by cars. I pat her head again, wondering how my sister, so sweet and innocent, had managed to end up in the middle of all this.

I know one thing, though. Her first real battle would be her last. As long as I am around, she will _never_ fight again.

* * *

><p><strong>NOTE: I just want to make it clear that Parker is not going to turn into a warrior-goddess of any sort. Like I've said, she's been trained, but the next chapter is going to be fairly embarrassing for her. She's <strong>_**good**_** at what she does, yes, but she sort of has to be, after being trained by Barricade who, as you can imagine, was a harsh teacher. Trust me, she's not going to be one of those Mary-Sues who all of a sudden pulls amazing battle strategy out of her ass. Just to you know.**

**Oh, and Savannah's lecture was put off till next chapter. I kind of wanted this one just to be about her and the Autobots. There's also going to be a couple of tender moments between the siblings next chapter, and some nightmares on Parker's end. You'd be a little freaked out, too, if it happened to you!**


	19. Chapter 19

**NOTE: Sorry for the long wait! I rewrote this chapter a million times, and I've been drowning in homework. But the next chapter should be up tonight or tomorrow morning, hopefully, because part of it was written before this chapter was finished.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 19<span>

When I wake up, I immediately realize I've been asleep for a _long_ time. My stomach aches and growls; my mouth feels like it's stuffed with cotton. When I sit up, my head starts to spin. But I definitely feel better; my muscles are slightly sore, but not as bad as they were, and the throbbing behind my eyes has subsided.

I swing my legs over the edge of my bed and catch my reflection in my mirror.

Wow. Scary stuff.

I wince at myself; my hair is a complete mess, my eyes are dark-rimmed, my skin is still smudged and filthy. I stand slowly, my muscles aching, and stretch my beck. My stomach practically roars and I clutch it. My throat is parched. I glance at my small bag of toiletries, trying to decide which to do first. Eat or shower?

In the end, my vanity wins out and I take a quick shower in the ladies area; my guards stand and wait outside. It takes _forever_ to scrub the oil off my skin, but by the time I'm done the smell of battle has been washed away and replaced by the smell of peaches. I feel a million times better when I'm done, and the guards take me down and feed me; they actually sit and eat with me.

"So," I say, my voice raspy, "how long was I out?" God, I feel _amazing_.

The guards glance at each other. "Fourteen hours? Something like that. We actually came in a couple of times to make sure you were still breathing." They snicker and I roll my eyes, flicking a lima bean at them.

"Hey," one says sharply, a grin tugging up the corners of his mouth, "that's an assault."

"Yeah, a lima bean; deadliest of all beans." I smirk. "Hey," I say after a moment, glancing around the base; people are bustling about more than usual. I give them a look and wave my index finger in a circle, indicating the space around me. "What's going on?"

"We're moving," one of them says, the blond. The redhead nods. "After the attack, they decided that was best; the 'Cons know where the base is now."

"Right," I say slowly, nibbling the edge of my fork, my eyes flickering between them. "When?"

"As soon as we can," Blondie says. "Tomorrow morning is the goal."

"Tomorrow morning," I murmur. "Where are we going?"

"Can't tell," Red points a fork in my direction, narrowing his eyes playfully. "You're not authorized to know that, missy."

"Ugh," I sigh. "Fine." I finish eating my food, trying to eat slowly and not inhale it; I don't want to scare these guys. And I know if I eat too fast I'll just make myself sick. We're _moving_. Thoughts of Megatron nag at the back of my mind. I should tell him. As wrong as that seems, I should tell him. If I don't, he'll think I'm trying to hide it, and this is exactly the sort of thing I should be reporting anyway. And besides, it's not like I _know_ where we're going.

I throw my trash away when I'm done eating, then glance at my guards. "What time is it?"

"Around noon," Blondie says. I nod.

"Can I talk to Lennox?"

The two glance at each other and then shrug. "I don't see why not," says Red. "We're not training today; we're getting ready to leave."

"Okay," I say, stretching again, glad to be rested up. I'm in a _much better_ mood today. The world is a wonderful place again, and though I'm actually afraid to talk to Lennox about this right now, I know I have to, and it's not so bad with all the rest I've gotten. "Lead the way, boys."

They guide me into the hangar, and the closer I get, the more my nerves prickle. When I enter, I don't find the usual—no one is training, no one is barking out orders. Mostly, everyone's standing around discussing plans for the big move. And while the air is still heavy with the loss of the soldiers, everyone seems relieved in the face of the move, because we'll be safe again.

"Ah-ha!" I hear my brother's voice and turn to him with a smile as he approaches, grinning hugely. "Sleeping Beauty awakens!"

"Shut it, turd," I say, wrapping my arms around his neck quickly and giving him a hard, deadly squeeze. He chokes and punches me in the side playfully.

"Someone's in a better mood," he laughs as I escape and hop up and down like a boxer, punching him rapidly in the chest. I duck under his hand as he tries to smack me.

"Of course I'm in a good mood," I laugh, punching him in the stomach, shocked when my fist connects with hard abs. When did he get abs? "I got my beauty sleep!"

He catches me in a headlock and forces my head down. "Yeah," he says, messing up my hair. "Thank _God_. You needed it."

"Shut up," I snap, wrapping my arm around his neck in return; we've reached a stalemate. "You're just jealous because I'm prettier than you."

He snorts. "Good joke," he says, then makes a retching sound as I put pressure on his throat, which causes him to squeeze my neck tighter in return.

"Stop! Stop!" I cry, "Savannah, you're _hurting_ me!" He releases me immediately and I grin and try to smack him again. "You _always_ fall for that," I grunt as I try to kick him in the chest; he catches my ankle and laughs triumphantly. "No," I say, "don't you _dare—"_

He flips me over and I hit the ground hard; I kick his legs out from under him and before long we're wrestling on the floor.

"Ow, ow, ow!" I cry in earnest this time as he twists my arm behind my back. I wrap one leg around his waist and roll so that I'm on top of him. "Asshole!"

He reaches up and slaps the side of my head as I get him in a headlock. Before long, he's flipped us over again; this time, he's pinned my hands above my head, his knees and legs holding my lower body down firmly. He throws his head back and makes a horrible, disgusting, hacking, snorting sound.

"_No,_" I say, squirming. "Sav, nonono, please no—_Savannah!_" I almost shriek as he gathers the spit in his mouth, leaning over my face. "Don't—you—_dare_—"

And he does it; he lets the spit dangle, only inches from my face, the classic brother move. I wiggle desperately beneath him as soldiers laugh at us. I shriek, writhing. The glob of slobber dangles dangerously close to my face. I strain away, but it doesn't matter. In this position, I don't have a chance, and he's stronger than I am. I let out a scream that's half laughter, which makes him snort and then the spit _drops on my face_.

For a moment I just stare up at him, and his eyes widen with a mix of laughter and fear.

"_Savannah,_" I say in a low voice. "_Run. Run now."_

"Oh, shit," he says as I scream. He gets up off of me quickly, wiping his mouth as I leap to my feet, wiping my face.

"You disgusting little _freak_," I snarl as he takes a couple of slow steps backward. The soldiers around us are laughing. Everyone is definitely in a better mood today, and while I'm glad I'm giving them a reason to laugh, I'm angry that it came from _this_. "You're going to _die_."

And then I leap at him, tackling him to the ground, effectively pinning his shoulders. He struggles beneath me, but my hold on him is too good. He's laughing, I'm laughing, _everyone_, it seems, is laughing, and it's a wonderful feeling. I gather a bunch of spit in my mouth and lean over my brother's face and _lick_ him, dragging my tongue from his jaw to his forehead.

"_Gah!_" Savannah cries, straining and wiggling as I had. "Parker _no!_"

I laugh. "Payback's are a _bitch_," I growl, "and so am I."

I lick him one more time for good measure before I punch him in the stomach once, just to remind him of just who's boss. He grunts and rolls over, taking a swing at me.

"Hey!" Lennox says from above us as Savannah throws me off. I roll over onto my back and flip my head, so that I'm looking at Lennox upside down. I grin at him and flip over. "You two are worse than Mudflap and Skids," he says, but he's smiling. He's an attractive guy, I realize again, especially when he smiles.

"I expect you to act more mature, soldier," he tells my brother, and I stick my tongue out at him with a smirk. Savannah shoots me a dirty look before I look up at Lennox seriously. He turns to my guards.

"You two," he snaps, but it's obvious he's not serious. "Your job is to _watch_ her. And you—" he looks at me again, his expression more serious than before. I'm reminded, again, of the fact that he doesn't particularly like me much anymore. "Do I need to cuff you again?"

"Pfft," I snort, "as if I couldn't break out of them. I—" And then I stop, realizing he doesn't look exactly amused. I clear my throat and scratch at the back of my neck awkwardly, getting to my feet. "Um," I say, "I hear we're moving?"

"Yeah," Lennox nods. "Tomorrow morning."

"Oh, okay," I say, keeping pace with him as he walks; Savannah follows. "Okay, so here's the thing. I think I should tell Megatron."

Lennox freezes, then rounds on me. I notice Ironhide watching me, standing tall, and I try not to cringe.

"Mind running that by me again?" Lennox asks, eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, okay, I know it sounds crazy," I say quickly, "but think about it; if I don't tell him, it'll look like I'm trying to hide things from him. And I think he already thinks I'm against him, and—"

"Parker," Lennox says very seriously. "I need you to choose a side in this war."

"I'm on _your_ side!" I gasp quickly. "But he'll figure it out eventually, and if he can track me it won't matter anyway. But if I tell him, it won't seem like a big deal—he's expecting me to report it, Lennox—_listen to me!_ He's going to check in soon as it is. I have to tell him. _Think about it._"

His jaw clenches and unclenches rapidly, his forehead creased.

"I don't know where we're going," I tell him, "so I can't blow it."

Lennox is staring at me hard, and I can tell he's trying to guess at my motivation. But I'm not lying, there's no ulterior motive. I've been completely honest. If they want me to continue to play this role, to turn against him, I need to do this. I know things will only blow up and get worse if I don't tell him. He'll be even more suspicious. He already ordered Barricade to kill me, after all.

"Come on, Lennox," I say. "It's kind of necessary.

He scrubs his hand over his face, nodding. "You're right," he nods. "We'll monitor you, just like last time. We've got nothing to lose."

"Great," I say. "When can I contact him?" I almost sound _eager_, and Lennox doesn't miss it. I bite my bottom lip as Lennox sighs heavily. He grabs my arm and leads me toward the computers, where my brother and the guards follow. So does Ironhide, and so does Optimus, looming over us, watching us. Like last time, Lennox gets the computer geeks all riled up and working furiously, but this time it's much faster.

"You will tell him we're leaving," Lennox orders. "Nothing more."

"Yeah, okay," I say, nodding. People are still packing up and cleaning up, everyone working to be ready by morning. "Why are we doing this _now?_"

"Because we have other things to do today," he tells me. "Now contact him."

I glance up, my eyes flickering between Optimus and Ironhide, wondering how I'll be treated today. I take a deep breath, feeling suddenly rushed and flustered, and try my luck. I'm not entirely sure how this thing works, how often he's listening, or how I get through to him. Lennox gives me a firm nod and Savannah squeezes my arm.

"Megatron," I rasp, folding my arms. "Megatron. _Meg-a-tron."_ I wait, but I get no response. I close my eyes and groan. "Come on, come on, I know you can hear me." I wait again, then try a different tactic; I sound like a little girl trying to get her parent's attention. "Megs. Megatron. Megs. Megs. Psst. Come _on_, I know you're awake—"

"_What is it?"_ I nearly jump out of my skin hearing his voice, and I'm filled with fury at the sound of it. All the lies. All the _lies_. My lip twitches, threatening to curl.

"We're leaving," I tell him. "Moving bases. Just thought you should know, considering it's _your fault_."

"_What are you talking about?"_

"You know what I'm talking about," I snap.

"_Mind your tone,"_ he snarls, a warning in his voice. I focus on a spot on Optimus's chest, my hands on my hips.

"You mind _your_ tone," I growl back. For a moment he is silent; the only sound we hear is the sound of his low, angry growl.

"_When do you leave?" _Lennox gives me a nearly imperceptible shake of his head.

"Dunno," I say. "Soon?"

An exasperated growl. _"Come to me, tonight," _he orders.

"You? Or _Starscream?_"

"_Me."_

"Why? So you can try to kill me again?" I'm staring hard at the spot on Optimus's chest.

"_What are you talking about?"_ His voice is low and dangerous.

"Barricade? The attack? Ringing any bells?" I spit.

Again, he is silent, but this time he's quiet for so long that we all shift nervously, glancing at each other. Finally:

"_I did not order an attack,"_ he rumbles. _"Barricade tried to kill you?"_

"Yes," I say slowly, thinking. "I know you told him to—"

"_Why in the name of Cybertron would I order him to kill you? If I wanted you dead, I would do it myself."_

I blink and glance at Lennox; he raises his eyebrows at me. This is true. If he wanted me dead, he would have found a way to kill me a long time ago.

"But Barricade tried to kill me. He almost did."

"_I did not order an attack."_ Now he sounds livid, and a snarl rips through the hangar. _"The disobedient fool." _He is quiet for another moment, then, "_You will come to me."_

"Why?" I ask slowly, curious now.

"_I…" _ he pauses, and what he says next makes my heart stop. He seems to clear his throat. _"I am going to set you free."_

This is the only thing he could have said that would draw me out, and he knows it, somehow. I'm sure he's lying, but at the same time…

"What do you mean?"

He suddenly lists coordinates; one of the computer geeks keeps note of them. _"Be there tonight at midnight."_

And then he disconnects.

For a moment I'm left reeling, not sure what to feel. Savannah squeezes my hand; I'm just confused. I'm still watching Optimus and Ironhide; they look troubled.

"Well, you're not going," Savannah says, glancing around at everyone like we're all stupid. "It's a trap, obviously. He's going to kill you."

I touch my earrings gently; my ears are sore.

"But what if he doesn't?" I ask him, feeling my eyes widen. "Savannah—I can be _free._"

"No, no, no," he says. "_No!_"

"Savannah, you don't know how it feels—"

"So you're going to risk your life on the _off_ chance that he decides to set you free? Don't be stupid."

And to think today started off so nicely. I'd been in a fantastic mood. I shrug out of my brother's grasp and look at Lennox. "What do you think?" Lennox is just shaking his head.

"I don't trust him," Optimus rumbles.

"Of course you don't," I snap, rounding on him. "You don't know him like I know him," I growl. "I don't think he'll hurt me—" Something in his eyes flashes, something I don't quite understand. Savannah cuts me off.

"I'm not going to—"

"You don't have a say," I hiss. "It's not your life. Savannah, _I don't have to live like this anymore._"

"What's wrong with this?"

"I can't live scared anymore!" I cry, realizing as I say it how true it is. "Savannah! Every day I'm afraid that maybe he's listening, that maybe he'll find me out. If what he says is true—"

"Why would he want to set you free?" Savannah demands.

"I don't know," I say in exasperation, "maybe it's just out of the kindness of his heart."

"No," Savannah says seriously, looking at us. "Parker, no. We'll figure something else out. But this feels wrong. You're not risking your life."

"It's my life to risk!"

"But _I can't lose you again!_"

We're in each other's faces now, and he's seething, and I'm livid, and everyone else is watching us quietly.

"Parker," he says lowly. "He knows you, too. He knows just how to lure you out."

"I can't _not_ go," I tell him. "I have to try."

In the back of my mind, I know it's stupid. God, I know it's stupid. But this—my _freedom_. It's too much to pass up. Because if he is telling the truth… I don't have to worry anymore.

"Don't you see it?" I ask, looking at them. "If he sets me free…" I swallow, struggling for words. I just shake my head. "I don't have to be scared anymore. He can't track me, he can't spy on me—"

"It doesn't make any sense," Optimus says.

"I _know_," I say. "But, Optimus, he's right. He wouldn't plan something like this just to kill me. If he wanted to kill me, he would _do it_. Lennox—" I turn to him desperately. "You have to let me go."

He shakes his head. "I'm sorry," he says. "We'll figure something else out."

"Like what?" I taunt.

"Wheeljack can think of something."

"If I don't go," I say slowly, "he'll kill me for disobeying. Either way, I'm dead. I need to take this risk. He'll be able to track me to the new base, and he'll kill me there, and maybe more soldiers—"

Lennox's eyes flash at this.

"Lennox," Savannah says warningly. "Sir. You're not actually considering this."

"He's not going to kill me." I look to Optimus again, almost desperately. "Optimus, come on."

Everyone is staring at him now. Lennox suddenly looks more conflicted, but he's shaking his head. "We're not going to give in to him," Lennox says. I roll my eyes.

"Optimus," I say. "What do you think?"

"You deserve freedom," he says slowly, and Savannah makes a furious sound. "But—"

"You can't stop me," I say suddenly. "I'll find another way. I'll go on my own. Please." I hate myself for what I'm doing now, calling on the old skills, skills I hadn't used since I'd first arrived here. I force my throat to close up, force my eyes to water. I cover my mouth with my hand, staring at the ground.

"I just want to be free," I mumble as pathetically as I can muster, mentally berating myself. I can't believe I'm doing this to them. But just thinking about it, about my freedom—I'd risk my own life for it in a heartbeat. To not hear his voice in my ear, to be free of him and the Decepticons, to live a semi-normal life…

"If I thought for one instant there was even the _slightest_ chance that he would hurt me, I would tell you," I say, staring earnestly, imploringly up at Optimus. "But he won't. I can _feel it_."

"And you're wrong," Savannah counters. "I can feel _that._"

And then more arguing ensues. Lennox seems set; he's not letting me go, not when he thinks my life might be at stake. Optimus and Savannah are both on his side. To my surprise, it is Ironhide who takes my side, stating that this is the smart thing to do. If I am set free, the risk of another attack and more lives lost will be hugely minimized.

"At what cost?" Optimus demands. "What if you are wrong? She will be killed. What is _with_ you?"

Ironhide looks defensive. "I'll go with her," he finally says, and I'm floored. "I'll keep her protected."

At this, everyone is suddenly silent. I don't understand. Ironhide makes eye contact with me and gives me the smallest, barest of nods. Then there's more arguing again, and the other Autobots get involved. Eventually, after too much arguing, I call for a vote. Lennox, Savannah, Mudflap and Skids are all against me. Ironhide, Sideswipe, and even Bumblebee are on my side; so is Wheeljack, mainly because he's offered to arm me. Everyone looks at Optimus, who didn't cast a vote, and silently we all realize it all comes down to his vote.

"Please," I breathe. "It's just one small risk. I'll be free."

"Your life is not a small risk," he rumbles seriously.

"Optimus," Lennox says, but there's so much behind the one word; he doesn't need to say anything else. I shoot him a glare and try it myself.

"_Optimus."_

He stares at me and heaves out a long, hissing sigh. I bite my lip.

"She…" he hesitates, closing his eyes. "I am not comfortable risking your life," he tells me, and my heart sinks. "But you may go—as long as I accompany you."

"_No,_" I say firmly and with passion. "No. You are _not_ risking your life—" Everyone else joins in, all of us united against this idea.

"I will go," Ironhide says. "Optimus, I will keep her safe."

When it is established that there is no way in hell Optimus is coming with me, he stares hard at Ironhide, placing a hand on his shoulder. They lock eyes for a moment before Optimus turns back to us, looking more conflicted than I've ever seen him.

"Please," I murmur.

"Are you certain?" he asks me.

"Yes."

He nods. "Then… it is not my place to stand between you and your freedom."

For a moment there's dead silence. And then I smile and Savannah and Lennox start shouting, completely against the idea of me risking my life. I try to calm them, but Savannah just storms away furiously.

I wonder how the day could have started off so wonderfully, and yet now it's so horrible. Optimus rubs a hand over his face as I stare after my brother; he leaves the hangar without a backward glance.

"Calm down, calm down," Ironhide says against the uproar, motioning with his hands. My head is buzzing with excitement and something like fear. Wheeljack is excited for some reason; Ironhide jokes that they may finally get to see me in action. No one thinks it's very funny.

Despite the anger, despite the conflict, other things still need to be accomplished today, and Lennox manages to get everyone back to work, looking stressed again. I feel bad for him and touch his shoulder; he just gives me a long, conflicted look before turning away. I dedicate myself to helping out however I can, and, at one point, stop Ironhide.

"Why did you take my side?" I ask him. He crouches down in front of me, eyes steady on mine.

"Sometimes, all they need is someone to step up and say what no one else wants to say," he says. "And it was the most logical move. Do not think too much of it."

I smile softly. "Thanks."

He grunts. "Don't get yourself in any trouble," he warns. "I'll protect you, but only because Optimus and the others care for you; if Megatron hurts you, it will hurt _him—_them."

"Right," I say slowly, playfully. "So you're protecting me for them. Not because you kinda sort like me or anything."

"Exactly," he says, knocking me down with one finger before standing up and walking away.

* * *

><p>Night has fallen, and we're pretty much set to go. We've found the location on the computers, an old field without many people around, which will make it difficult for Ironhide to go undetected, but not impossible. Savannah hasn't talked to me all day. Optimus, I notice, is standing outside in the darkness. Slowly I approach him and, when I reach him, I press a hand gently against his huge leg.<p>

"Hey," I say. "Mind if I join you?"

"Of course not," he says, lowering himself so that we're closer. I keep my hands on him constantly, not sure if I'm offering or seeking comfort. I'm still not even sure if I'm allowed to touch him again. He looks at me.

"Do not make me regret this," he tells me, and I shake my head furiously.

"I won't," I tell him seriously. "I promise. And thank you _so much_." He just sighs and shakes his head. I rub my hand against his leg. "Optimus," I say lowly after a moment, thinking of something that's been bugging me all day.

"Yes?"

"I know you've only been keeping me here so that I can spy against Megatron," I say slowly. "So… what happens when I can't do that anymore?"

"You will return here," he says, sounding almost confused.

"But—will I be welcomed back, or—"

"Parker," he tells me, reaching out a finger to tap my head. "We're starting over, remember? We can't do that if you're not here." I smile. Then, more seriously, he adds, "Make sure you return to me."

"I will," I say. He smiles softly and is about to say something else when Savannah's voice cuts sharply thought the night, making me jump. Even Optimus starts slightly, and we both turn to face him.

"Come on," he says roughly. "Go time." He gives Optimus a deadly look. My stomach flutters nervously and I touch the delicate necklace at my throat, one equipped with a camera; in one ear are more spy-studs, so they can hear me back at base. I've changed into shorts because, even at night, it's humid and muggy; I'm wearing running shoes, just in case.

"If anything happens to her," Savannah says to Optimus, "I'm holding you personally responsible."

"I understand," Optimus says, his eyes darkening as he straightens up.

"Would you guys chill out," I mutter, "I'll be fine."

Savannah snorts and leads me inside; Optimus keeps pace with us. Ironhide is transformed and ready to go. Lennox is standing beside him, looking annoyed and tired and defeated. He runs over the plan with me, which really isn't much of a plan, and I'm feeling jittery and nervous.

_Freedom_.

It's so close, I can almost taste it. I can't stop smiling, which only annoys Savannah. Lennox presses a small gun into my hands and I tuck it into the waistband of my shorts, holding his gaze.

"Just in case," he says. I sigh, but can't stop smiling.

"I'll be _fine_," I tell them, and they all look worried. Savannah is shaking his head. He begs to come with me, but Lennox won't allow him. It's just me and Ironhide, tonight. Ironhide soothes them as well, but nothing is working.

"You're making me nervous," I mutter. "Come on, Ironhide. Time's a-ticking."

"Get in," he says, opening the door. I hug my brother, and for a second I'm worried he won't let me go. I say bye to the others, but it's all sort of in a blur. Optimus stops me briefly and just rests one finger under my chin before withdrawing it.

"Be careful," he says very seriously.

"I'll come back," I promise, climbing inside Ironhide. I give them a huge smile as Ironhide's engine rumbles to life and we drive away.

* * *

><p><strong>Note: So, there is a reason all of this is happening now. I figured after 20 chapters, it was time to advance the plot a little more. There is a reason for all of this, and for her meeting with Megatron. Just be patient, things will come together!<strong>

**Next chapter has some Parker/Megatron tenderness. I LOVE the next chapter. I can't wait to share it with you guys.**


	20. Chapter 20

**NOTE: Yes, you're kind of supposed to feel thrown right into the middle of the action here. The main focus is Megatron/Parker; and being thrown into the middle of it as readers is supposed to give you an idea of the confusion Parker feels. Keep in mind that this is her first meeting with him face-to-face since she found out he lied. And poor Parker is confused again—in denial, maybe, but in his own way, Megatron did feel something for her. Two years with a person kind of ensures that it'll happen.**

**If you guys want to hear the PERFECT SONG for Parker and Megatron's relationship, listen to **_Buddha for Mary_ **by **_**30 Seconds to Mars.**_

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 20<span>

Ironhide dropped me off about a half hour and a couple of miles ago, leaving me alone to find the field in the darkness. Like last time, Lennox is giving me directions in my ear. I'm armed with nothing but a gun and a flashlight, but the gun makes me feel considerably safer, considering the rounds in my pocket and my ability to use it. It's almost midnight, and I haven't seen any sign of Megatron; Lennox says I'm close to the field.

For the last ten minutes, Barricade has been following me, which scares me, but I keep it to myself so as not to worry everyone back at base. I've been avoiding him, hiding in shadows and around buildings, but I can feel him. His lights flash every so often, almost teasing me, red, blue, red, blue, red, blue, like the eyes of the two robot families who had somehow both become _my_ family… or so I had thought.

I've reached the outskirts of town and see a stretch of land that must be the field; Lennox confirms this. Barricade rounds a corner and I freeze, but I know he can see me. Keeping my head down, heart hammering, trying to ignore him, I keep walking toward the quiet field; I see no sign of Megatron, and Barricade follows me closely.

"Oh, God," I breathe, my blood running cold. I'd been stupid, so stupid. _This is an execution._ I swallow and try to keep calm, but as soon as I touch the field, Barricade transforms violently. I gasp and take off running, my feet pounding the ground, heart hammering. "No, no, no, no," I whisper to myself, my voice urgent. But I can't outrun him. I can't—

He comes out of nowhere. One moment, Barricade is reaching for me, his fingers brushing my shirt; the next, there's a horrible, loud screeching sound, the groan of metal being bent unnaturally, a collision. I stumble and whirl around, and there he is, having knocked Barricade aside, tearing into him viciously. I cover my mouth with one hand, shocked at the violence. It only takes moments, but Megatron has pinned him to the ground; Barricade's body is sparking and fizzling, and Megatron's weapons are aimed at him, his clawed foot digging into him, pressing him into the ground.

"Oh my God," I murmur around my hand, staring at the scene before me. It's terrifying. Megatron leans over Barricade and fires at his arm before ripping it off at the shoulder; Barricade snarls in pain before Megatron tosses the limb away carelessly.

I've seen worse living with them, but it's been a while, and I'm more than a little shocked. What is going on?

"Did I not tell you," Megatron roars in his deep voice, "that she was _not_ to be harmed?"

"My Lord—"

"_Did I not tell you?_" His voice is dangerous; I tremble.

"She is an insect, my Lord," Barricade whines from beneath him. "A worthless insect!"

"You disobeyed a direct order," Megatron growls, his voice suddenly lower. He applies pressure to Barricade's other arm and he shrieks. "Did you not try to kill her?"

"My Lord—" he cries out again as Megatron pulls at his arm. Barricade shoots me a look that tells me if I don't die somehow tonight, he will kill me personally. And slowly. He looks back up at Megatron.

"I did," he says, and Megatron roars. He climbs off of Barricade, who stands, and as soon as he's on his feet Megatron takes a swipe at his face, causing more sparks to fly. I gasp softly and duck down as slivers of metal go flying.

"Get out of my sight," Megatron snarls, knocking him down again. "Do not disobey me again, Barricade." He clicks his claw-hands threateningly, causing the metal to shriek out in protest. Barricade snarls at us before grabbing his detached arm and disappearing slowly into the darkness. I'm not sure if he can transform without an arm.

I'm crouched down in the grass when Megatron turns back to me, his red eyes still violent, searching for me. Finally they land on me. Lennox whispers in my ear, telling me to stay calm, that help is coming, just say the word, but I don't say the word. I won't put Ironhide in danger. I stand slowly, my arms wrapped around myself as I stare up at Megatron, my body trembling.

"My bird," he says in his low voice, crouching slightly. "Come to me." His voice isn't harsh now, though. It's softer—not soft like Optimus's voice when he's being kind, but soft in its own way. I step timidly forward. "Do not be frightened," he tells me. "I won't harm you. Come."

Telling myself that I have no reason to disbelieve him, that he's never harmed me before, I go to him, standing at his feet. Somehow, I don't feel right. I'd been so angry, coming here. I'd been ready to let him have it, if need be. I'd been so furious, so sure that I would hate him for two years of lies. But now, looking at him…

I don't.

"Hi," is all I say, left breathless in the wake of the realization that _I don't hate him_. It scares me. I thought I'd hated him. I had hated him. What is wrong with me? He'd been my family for two years, but family doesn't lie to each other. Not like he had. I'm feeling conflicted again, just like I had so long ago when I'd discovered that Decepticons were Autobots and Autobots were Decepticons. It was all so confusing.

"What is wrong, child?" he asks me, bracing his elbows on his huge knees as he crouches. "You look frightened. Have I scared you?"

"I thought—I thought maybe you were going to kill me."

He laughs at this, a low, hissing chuckle. I swallow.

"I am not going to kill you," he tells me, reaching a sharp finger forward—funny how I'd never thought of them as talon-like _before_—and stroking it along my head, tracing down my spine. He looks me up and down, noting the bruises and scrapes. My thigh cuts have opened and are bleeding; he focuses on them, nudging my shorts up with a finger, smearing the blood. "What happened?"

"Barricade happened," I say bitterly. "Him and the others—they attacked, and I thought—" I break off. He's growling again, a low, angry sound. "What's wrong?"

"I did not order that attack," he tells me, just like he'd said earlier. "Barricade is a fool."

I smile at him, a slow, timid smile. "I—I missed you," I tell him suddenly, breathlessly, and I'm not sure if I'm telling the truth or not. Being here with him again, it's like I don't know who I am anymore. My head is spinning, all muddled and confused. He chuckles again, lower this time, tinged with something like affection as I stare up at him. He strokes me again.

"And I, you," he says, and I don't know if he's telling the truth, either. He lets out a long, low breath; something like a sigh, but not quite. I'm still trying to find that anger, that rage, but it's gone. It's all gone. His eyes stare up at the sky for a moment, almost longingly. I follow his gaze.

"You're looking for Cybertron," I murmur, "aren't you?" I recognize the spot Optimus had showed me.

"Cybertron is dead," he says, his voice dark, but there is a certain sadness when he says the name of the planet. I swallow the lump forming in my throat. He glances at me. "How do you know where Cybertron is?"

"Prime showed me," I tell him softly. Something inside me is urging me to be soft, quiet. This isn't a time for harshness or yelling. "Do you miss it?" He doesn't answer right away; instead, he gives another hissing sigh.

"It was my home," he says after a long time. "It was a magnificent planet; beautiful, until Prime destroyed everything."

I'm not sure exactly what's happening to me. I'm _so_ confused. I had come here, expecting to be angry, excited at the prospect of my freedom. And then I'd been hunted by Barricade, who I knew wanted to kill me; I'd been sure, then, that Megatron had called me out here to kill me. And then Megatron had _saved my life_, and now we were talking—just like we had before, like we were family, like we loved each other. It's like nothing has changed, like he never lied to me. And I hate myself for not feeling the rage, for not hating him as I know I should, but at the same time, being here, with him… it feels sort of right. No, I realize, not _right_—but familiar. In a way, it feels like home.

I stare at him, staring subtly at the stars, realizing that _this_ Megatron, the one right here, right now, the one who had saved me—this was the Megatron I had loved. Not the one who had sent me to live with my "enemies" as a spy, not the Megatron who had snapped at me and who had lied to me. _This_ was the Megatron who had _rarely_ treated me with anything other than affection, in his own way. It's difficult to convince myself that it was all a lie—his affection for me, I mean. He couldn't have been lying, not the whole time.

Maybe he had thought it necessary to lie about my brother. Maybe he hadn't wanted to. Maybe it had been like how I had lied to Optimus about who I was, even though I had been hurting him. I still loved Optimus, right? Megatron didn't _love_, exactly, but maybe he felt something for me in spite of it all. Looking at him now, his body dark against the stars… it's hard for me to see him as malicious, as I had since I'd left his side.

"This could be your home, now," I tell him, reaching out and touching one of his clawed fingers. He looks at it, at my hand on his finger. "You could live with us, with the humans." I'm not sure why I suddenly feel so sad, or why my voice is wavering this way. Maybe it's the thought of him losing everything he'd ever loved. The thought that he's alone now, that maybe he wasn't always like this. I wonder who he used to be. This is exactly how I used to feel, before—before _everything._ "Megs, this could be your home." But he just snorts.

"Humans are vile creatures," he tells me, his eyes focusing on me.

"Am I vile?" I ask him, my voice soft again.

"You are different."

"How am I different?"

"You are less… repulsive. And you are one of us," he says. "You aren't a sniveling, disgusting little insect. If my soldiers were half as loyal as you—" he stops suddenly before shaking his head. "We would have won this war long ago." He's staring at the sky again, and it only takes a couple of moments before his eyes find mine. "In another life," he says, "you could have been a Cybertronian. You could have been stronger, ruled at my side."

"You don't have to be made of steel to be strong," I tell him pointedly, one of my old arguments. As if to prove me wrong, he flicks me gently, knocking me over. I laugh.

"You were born into the wrong body, my bird," he tells me as I use his finger to get to my feet; he runs a claw along my ribs before offering me his hand. I climb on and he lifts me to his shoulder. I kick off my shoes, using my toes to grip the metal better so I don't fall. Just like a bird.

"Why did you ask me out here?" I ask, rapping my fingers against his metal. He growls lowly, and I scratch the metal with my nails this time. I know _why_, but I feel like there's something _else_.

He walks a few paces with me on his shoulder before saying anything. Finally, he speaks. "I am leaving," he says, and my heart stops.

"I—you—_what?"_ He can't be _leaving!_ "Where are you going?"

"Nowhere that you need to worry about," he tells me, and, again, I wonder if he knows I'm spying for the other side. But I doubt it.

"I—am I coming, too?" My voice is soft again as I curl my fingers around one of his face spikes. Lennox and the others are oddly silent in my ear. I wonder what they're thinking. I'm sure Megatron's answer is no. Otherwise, he would have taken me and left already. This seems different. This feels like a goodbye.

"No," he says, and my heart soars and plummets at the same time, leaving my dizzy and confused. He turns his head to face me, and I curl my legs beneath me, balanced on his shoulder.

"Why not?" Do I hear a plea in my voice? I sound so sad, even to my own ears.

"You wouldn't survive," he says, "not where I'm going. The living conditions aren't suitable for a human."

I'm floored, left reeling. As much as I hate him—thought I hated him—_do_ I hate him?—the thought of him leaving… it breaks my heart. For two years, he had been all I'd had. For two years, he had been my _family_, and, in spite of the lies, I can't forget that. Even just now, he had protected me against Barricade. He hadn't ordered me killed. He believed me loyal, his pet. I—I needed him, in some ways. Even while I'd been living on base with the Autobots and with my brother, I had always known, _always_, that he was there, somewhere, a place I could return to if something went wrong. And now he's leaving? It just doesn't make sense. He's become such a big part of my life. And it's hard, too, knowing that Lennox and Optimus and Savannah are listening to this—to this _goodbye_, essentially. I want it to be private. I don't want them to hear this.

I know this side of Megatron, a side I rarely see, let alone anyone else. The fact that they're back home and listening to it makes me feel _wrong_—dirty.

"Megs," I whisper, my voice all shaky. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to _do!_ "Megs, what am I gonna do without you?" I can already feel it, a vastness opening up inside of me, threatening to swallow me. Somehow, in the back of my mind, I had never imagined him _leaving me_. It hurt. It felt like the world had been ripped out from under me somehow, and the worst part, the absolute worst part, was that I _knew_ I shouldn't be feeling this way. In some ways, it was almost as painful as losing my father all over again.

"You are strong," he tells me.

"But what will I _do?_ Where will I _go?_"

"You'll stay with them," he says, referring to the Autobots. "They trust you, do they not?"

"They do," I say, "but, _Megs_—what if something goes wrong? What if something happens, what if they don't want me anymore? Where will I go? You're—you're all I have. For two years, you've been—_everything_, you can't just _leave_."

"It is for the best, my pet," he tells me. "If you stay with them you will be safe." It was true. They wouldn't let anyone hurt me. But now I'm uncertain in the face of this sudden change. They'd already hated me once. What if I returned now, after this, and found that they hated me again? I would have _no one_. No one but my brother, and if they threw me away, he wouldn't be able to stop them.

He lifts me in his hand, where I sit and stare up at his face—so _familiar_. So painfully, achingly familiar. The one everyone believed was a monster, cruel and evil—and maybe he was. He probably was. But that wasn't the Megatron I had known. Maybe it had been a lie, but it was hard, now, facing him, trying to adjust him to fit into what I know now. He uses his other hand to bring a harsh finger up under my chin, something akin to affection in his eyes. I wonder if they can see it, back at base. I wonder what they think of me, now.

"When the time is right," he says in his deep, rumbling voice, "we will come for you. But, for the moment, I have no further use for you. You have served your purpose; you have done well, despite your moments of weakness, but plans have changed. For now, you are free, my bird."

I smile softly. "You're setting your bird free?" I joke, stretching my arms out like wings. "You're letting me stretch my wings?"

"I am," he says, running the tip of one finger along one of my "wings". "But I trust that, when the time is right, my bird will return."

I swallow. And, for the first time tonight, I know I am lying. While I am sad to see him go, in some ways, I know I'll never be his spy again. "I'll fly back to you," I grin, flapping my wings.

"You will not be harmed," he says, "so rest assured. You have served me well. When the time comes, you will be protected."

I stare into his eyes for a few long moments. With one knuckle, he strokes my head.

"So is this goodbye?" I ask after a few moments of us watching each other. He lets out a low, rumbling growl, but it's not angry.

"For now," he says, and I feel my eyes stinging. My _life_, my whole _life_, for two whole years, and now he's walking away. It hurts that I'm being left behind, that he doesn't offer to take me, even though I know it's for my own good. I sigh and lean my head against his thumb; he strokes my forehead.

Still, Lennox and the others are silent. I wonder how much they can see through the necklace, and know that they can probably see everything, and maybe more than what I can see with my own eyes.

"So," I ask after a while. "Megs. Is this it? Are you done with… with trying to kill them?"

He gives me a long, steady look, but he doesn't answer me. Impulsively, I say, "Tell me about your old life."

"You're stalling," he says, and I'm ashamed, but he's right. I don't want to say goodbye yet. "I ruled Cybertron," he says after a moment, and it's there again, a longing in his voice.

"I know," I tell him. "You and Optimus Prime."

We're both quiet for a while, and what I say next, I say for both Megatron and everyone back at base.

"You know," I murmur lowly, "you all try to paint each other as so _evil_. But… but evil is just a point of view, you know?"

"Not this again," he growls, and I laugh lightly, patting his palm.

"No, no," I reassure him. "I'm just saying. You don't have to fight. I—I don't want to lost anyone else."

We both know I'm talking about Savannah, how I'd lost him for even a short time, though Megs doesn't know he's still alive.

"You mean your brother," he says, and I nod.

"Didn't you have family?" I ask. "I never understood that about you. Didn't you ever have anyone back home who you loved?" I'm fiddling nervously with the necklace now. He's never been one to talk about his personal life.

"You've changed," he tells me, and I blink up at him.

"_Stop touching the necklace,"_ Lennox says, and I drop it.

"You're avoiding the question," I tell him. "Come on, tell me. This is our last time seeing each other for a while, after all."

"_Get out of there, Parker,"_ Lennox finally says. _"What are you doing, making conversation?"_ I ignore him.

"I have no family," he says, but I notice the way he says it.

"Well, not any_more_," I say. "But did you ever?"

He stares at me for so long that I think he won't answer. Finally: "I had a brother."

"What was his name?"

His voice is a horrible snarl now, one that makes every hair on my body stand on end. "_Optimus Prime._"

I swear my heart stopped for a full minute as I try to put this together, to make the pieces fit. Surely he must mean they were _like_ brothers, right? Not _really _brothers. Someone would have told me this by now.

"You—you're kidding. _Optimus?_"

"Now you see," he says, and I can't believe it, but I nod. I'm trying to recover, trying not to think about what I had told Optimus—_You don't know him like I know him_. God, I'm such an _idiot_. Of course Optimus knows him—better than I do. They're brothers! And I'd betrayed Optimus for his brother, and I was betraying Megatron for Optimus, and… "He is not my brother anymore," Megatron growls. "He is weak, he is a fool."

"Oh my God," I say, then let out a quick laugh, gathering my scattered thoughts. I punch his hand playfully. "You know," I say, "now that I think about it, I can _definitely_ see the family resemblance." Megatron snarls, clearly not amused. "I think it's in the eyes," I add playfully. "But, just between you and me, Megs—you _totally_ got the looks."

He gives me a hard look, but I just beam up at him, trying to hide how shocked I really am.

"You and Optimus Prime," I say slowly, hoping Optimus can hear me. "I'll be damned." I feel like such a horrible person, now. There's something about the bond between brothers—you don't screw with that bond, even if they hate each other. "Megs, do you really hate him?"

"I want to kill him myself."

"That's so sad," I say, feeling my heart break. "There's nothing my brother could ever do that would make me hate him."

"I'm sure you'd feel differently were you in my position. Now stop; we're finished with this."

I nod obediently, my mind still stuttering. _What the hell._

We're silent for a few minutes, and Lennox won't stop nagging me. I can tell he's getting irritated.

"I don't want to go yet," I finally murmur, both to Megatron and Lennox. Megatron watches me and then, very tenderly, and with the utmost gentleness, he hooks one clawed finger under my chin, lifting my face.

"Don't fret, child," he tells me, stroking me a couple more times. "We will be together again soon."

I wipe at my suddenly damp eyes, nodding. "I know," I say, hardening myself, clenching my jaw. Megatron's eyes are almost affectionate again, and I sort of hate him for it, for leaving me like this—with good memories rather than bad ones. Carefully, he sets me back on the ground and I climb off of his hand, slipping my shoes on.

"How did you get here?"

"I drove," I say, and it's not _really_ a lie.

"Will you be safe in the dark?" There's a protective edge to his voice; he's concerned for me. God, this is the Megatron I used to know—this is the Megatron I had wanted them all to see when I'd tried to explain to them just how I'd ended up in this situation. I hope they don't think my loyalty is wavering because of this. I hope they'll understand.

"I can handle myself," I tell him.

"I do not doubt it."

I give him a lingering look as Lennox snaps in my ear. I've almost forgotten my reason for coming out here when Megatron leans down very close to me; I can feel his heat on my face, and his eyes cast my skin in a red glow. I don't flinch; I just stare up at him, my face tilted upward. With one clawed finger he brushes my hair aside, the metal skimming my cheek. A sharp shock zaps my ear, small but startling. There's a soft crackle, and the earrings drop to the ground; no blood, no hooks, just very simple and painless. I bend over and pick them up, looking at them, crusted with old blood that had somehow never come off.

"They would have deafened you," he says, "once we were out of range. I won't be able to communicate with you. When the time comes, Starscream will come for you. You will be kept safe."

"Thank you," I breathe in a shaky voice, rubbing my ear. He runs one finger along my spine one last time before, without a word, he turns away and transforms.

* * *

><p>I tell Lennox not to send Ironhide for me, not yet, mostly because I'm not sure where Barricade and Megatron are, and I don't want to put him at risk. I've made it out of the woods, though, and I'm laughing, teasing them for being so overprotective and worried. My flashlight beam illuminates the darkness before me as I walk, but as I'm talking, my voice halts. Blue and red lights flash in the distance, then go dark. When they flash again, they're closer, then again, and they're closer still.<p>

"Shit," I mumble. Barricade. What is his _deal?_

I pick up my pace a little, but it's dark, the town is asleep, and Barricade has nothing to lose. He transforms—or I think he does. Maybe he's just flashing his lights—and rushes me. I scream and turn to run, but it's dark and I can't see much.

"Shit, shit, shit," I hiss as I collide with a parked car. Of course. I got hit by a _parked car_. I roll to the side, using my flashlight as my guide; streetlights flicker on as I pass under them. I can hear Lennox yelling in my ear, but at this point, there's nothing he can do. Ironhide is too far away still, and Barricads is right on top of me. Still, I run. I pull out my gun and spin around, firing at his eyes, but it doesn't matter. Glass shatters somewhere on his body, but his one good arm is—well, armed, really, guns blazing. I catch a glimpse of a horrible metal spike and roll to the side as he tries to smash me.

My brother is yelling in my ear. I can hear Lennox contacting Ironhide, but it's too late. I manage to get up somehow and run, but Barricade hits me, _hard_, and sends me into another car. The metal dents, the glass shatters, and the alarm goes off.

"Not so tough not, are you?" Barricade snarls in his huge voice. "All alone in the dark…"

I turn to run, but he grabs me. I shoot him, but it doesn't make a difference. Somehow I snag free and run, leaping over parked cars.

"_Run, baby, run!_" I can hear Savannah yelling in my ear. I duck and roll beneath a parked semi, but Barricade knocks it out of the way easily.

"This," he says, "shall be fun."

I'm on my back, arms beneath me, scrabbling backward and shooting, but the gun runs out of bullets. I spin around, but he flips me over, pinning me to the ground with his one hand. I'm swearing violently at him, kicking, but there's nothing I can do. I may be trained, but there's only so much a girl can do when a huge, pissed-off robot who outweighs her considerably has her pinned to the ground.

Ironhide is nowhere to be seen, but this doesn't surprise me. It's only been a couple of seconds.

"Get up," Barricade says, and I know he just wants to play me to death. Cat and mouse. I stand and turn to run, but before I can, I feel a sharp, ripping pain in my torso, between my ribs on my right side. I gasp in pain, looking down; the metal spike is embedded in my skin; red is blooming around it like some sort of flower. Savannah is screaming. My body hunches slightly, curved around the blade, and I can't even scream. Laughing, Barricade jerks it free. I clutch the wound—it's not deep, is it? Please don't let it be deep.

I turn to run, which seems to shock him, because he lets out an outraged roar. He must be severely pissed off. I don't know what's going on. I can't even

* * *

><p><em><span>Savannah<span>_

Ironhide is on his way to her, but he's too late. He'll never make it in time, not now. The necklace-camera is swinging wildly as she runs and moves, but we can see enough—too much. Especially when Barricade stabs her. She gives a soft, almost inaudible squeak of shock, or pain, or _something_. From this angel, we can all see the blade.

"No." I say. "No!"

"_Parker,_" Optimus's voice is low, tinged with horror or disbelief.

"Roadkill," the twins mumble in unison.

Barricade removes the blade and to my surprise she manages to run again. Sort of. She's not as fast. He toys with her some more, but she's still got enough energy to scream and yell and swear creatively. He seems to be getting annoyed, though, and he gets more and more rough. She can't escape. There's no way she'll be able to escape him.

Only seconds have passed, but it seems like hours.

"Barricade, _stop_," she orders, as though she has any authority over him. I can hear her panting. Run, I want to tell her. _Run._ But she's tiring, and that wound must be sapping her strength. The huge screen in front of us is showing everything in too much detail, and I've never hated night vision more than I do now. I don't want to see this.

Finally Barricade seems to lift her up. We can see her arms and legs flailing, kicking, punching. She's managed to reload her gun and shoots him. She must hit him good at least once, because he seems to have had it. Still grasping her in one hand, he slams it down; we can all tell by the way the camera moves, by the way everything flashes past, that he does it _hard_.

We all hear the sharp, sickening _crack_ as her body and her head smacks against the concrete. The necklace—the camera portion—is resting on the cement beside her throat. I can just see her face, most of her body, and a good view of the ground around her.

Silence.

I've never, ever heard silence like this. It's deafening. The only sound comes from the screen, from Barricade's snarling breaths. Parker doesn't move.

She.

Doesn't.

Move.

My heart pounds, but very slowly. We're all staring, waiting—waiting for her to yell, or swear, or do _something. _But she doesn't. She doesn't so much as twitch. We can all see the dark blood pooling beneath her head, smudging against her still hand, the fingers relaxed, folding limply. Her eyes are slitted, opened very slightly, staring.

And we wait. From this angle, we can't tell if she's breathing. The ground rumbles as Barricade moves.

Still, no one speaks.

"Ironhide," Lennox breaks the silence. His voice sounds very faint, very far away. "Ironhide, fall back."

His words mean nothing to me.

"Parker," Lennox tries, pressing a button to speak to her. "Parker, can you hear me?"

She doesn't move. No one moves.

"Parker," he tries again. "Parker."

I'm shaking. That's all I can think. I'm shaking, and Parker isn't moving. The blood beneath her head spreads. She's still not moving.

Why won't she move?

I can feel it, deep inside of me, bubbling up from the deepest parts of me, building up in my chest, choking me, struggling to get free. I feel like the whole world is crashing down around me. My ears are ringing, my vision is warped. I can't suck in enough air.

I start to scream.

"No," I gasp, "_no, no, no, no! Parker! __**Parker!**_"

Lennox's face is very pale. Nothing on the screen has changed. There's just Parker. Something in the darkness behind her shifts. Why isn't anyone moving? Why aren't they doing _anything?_

She's still not moving. How much time has passed? It feels like an eternity, but it can't be more than a few seconds. A minute, tops.

She's not moving.

"Ironhide," I hear a deep, regal voice behind me. Optimus. I turn to face him. I've never, in my life, felt like this—so much rage, so much hate, all directed at him.

"You!" I snarl. "This is _your fault!_"

"Savannah—" I don't know who's speaking.

"_You did this."_

Optimus doesn't respond. He looks incredibly upset; he turns to Lennox.

"I'm going for her," he says. "We cannot leave her there."

There's agony in his voice, and I'm glad. _He did this._

"No, no, no," I'm saying again, almost whimpering. Somehow, I'm sitting on the floor. "She's not—she can't be—_Parker._"

I'm hardly aware of it, but Optimus is suddenly yelling—yelling. He rarely yells, except in battle. I'm going to throw up, I can feel it. Mudflap and Skids are shouting, too—it seems like everyone is shouting, everyone is shouting, everyone is moving.

Everyone except Parker.

Suddenly, a sound from the monitors draws our attention. The ground around Parker trembles violently, so badly that the camera hops around a little on its chain. Metal screeching against metal fills the room, followed by vicious snarls, the sound of ripping, cries of pain. I recognize the sound.

It's a Cybertronian battle. But I don't understand.

"Ironhide, I said _fall back."_ Lennox says from far away, and Ironhide's voice sounds back.

"It's not me."

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><p><strong>Note: So, I know you're all going to hate me for that cliffie, but, hey. I've already started the rest of this—I'm a couple of pages into it. And if I had finished it, it would have been waaaaay too long. So, instead, I decided to post two chapters tonight and hopefully one tomorrow. Sound good?<strong>

**Oh, and *coughcough* just so you know… reviews **_**MIGHT**_** just motivate me to post the next chapter faster. **_**Maybe**_**. *winkwink* ;)**

**Oh, and before anyone asks, YES, Parker's last sentence is left unfinished on purpose.  
><strong>


	21. Chapter 21

**Note:**** Thanks for the reviews, you guys are the best! I'll keep this note short. On with the story!**

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 21<span>

_Savannah_

A foot slams down very near Parker, and I can see Barricade struggling on the ground. Someone is definitely attacking him. I can't take my eyes off the screen. A deafening roar almost makes me flinch, and we all recognize it—it's Megatron's voice. We're barely able to see him lower his face to Barricade's.

"You had better hope," he snarls in a chilling voice, "that she is not dead."

He rips some metal off the other robot, kicks him, and stands. Barricade staggers to his feet and vanishes into the darkness. Megatron walks closer, his feet nearly crushing the necklace. We're all silent, watching carefully. Optimus, beside us, has his eyes narrowed furiously.

We catch a glimpse of one of Megatron's fingers, just barely, and Parker moves. My heart soars, but then I realize she is only moving because Megatron is lifting her. Her body is still lifeless. The necklace dangles, waving around wildly. As Megatron situates her in his hands, though, it stabilizes, presumably resting on her chest or throat; we can't see her face, but we can see his face, shoulders, chest, and an expanse of the sky perfectly.

He's walking, taking her away somewhere, probably away from the town.

"No, no, no," I say. I _hate_ him. "Parker…"

Everyone is frozen again, watching the screens. We can see Megatron's fingers as he stops, extended around her carefully, looking like the bars of a cage. But his face actually looks—almost—concerned. The camera wobbles dangerously and flickers as he shifts her into one hand; with his other, he very carefully, very gently touches what I assume is her face, or her body.

He lets out a low, angry snarl. Metal groans as Optimus leans forward; his hands are clenched dangerously. I wonder what Megatron is doing with her. She still hasn't moved, hasn't showed any signs of life. Every eye in the hangar is focused on the screen.

Megatron strokes a finger over her body, nudging the necklace. Optimus makes a low, angry sound.

She still hasn't moved.

"Wake up," Megatron rumbles. I'd heard him speak gently to her before—we all had, and it had been strange for all of us, hearing that, listening to the way he called her his pet, his bird. Almost affectionate. But now—his tone is very low, very gentle, and I realize that I am sure he has no idea we can see everything. He seems to nudge her. "Wake up." It sounds more like an order this time.

Optimus is making a low sound, something almost like a growl. Tears are streaking down my face, but I couldn't care less. My mind—I don't know what to do. I don't know if I'll ever know what to do again. I want to blame someone—everyone. Optimus, for giving her the permission she'd sought—what was with him, anyway? Why couldn't he just say _no_ to her?—Ironhide, for not being there for her when she had most needed him, for being so slow; Lennox, for not fighting harder; Megatron, because this was all his fault; Barricade, because he had dealt the final blow; Parker, for being so stupid, always, always so goddamned _stupid_; and myself, for not being able to keep her safe.

She's my sister. She's my other half. I've known her my entire _existence_. I'd only just got her back; what would I do without her? I'd made it once before, coped with the grief, but it was harder this time. This time, I had seen it happen with my own eyes. This time, there is no fighting it. All that blood, the way she _won't move_. And I can't stop thinking about how we weren't there for her—_I wasn't there for her_—when she had needed me most. What had her last thoughts been? That should be _me_ holding her, or one of the Autobots at the very least. Not Megatron. He shouldn't be the one leaning over her, holding her tenderly in his otherwise cruel hands, ordering her to rise, sounding almost like a child in denial.

She'd been so brave. Stupid, but brave. And to think, only moments before, she had been teasing us about being overprotective. She'd thought she'd been right. We had all thought she had been right.

"Parker," I breathe. I can't make myself think the words. She can't be—she _isn't_—I refuse to believe it. Lennox's face is still pale, but it has hardened.

"Lennox," Optimus says, "we cannot leave her body with him."

_Her body. Her body._ The words bounce around inside my skull. I turn around to face him again.

"Don't talk about her like that," I tell him lividly. "Don't talk about her like she'd _dead!_" I choke on the word, dead, because saying it makes it real. But she can't be dead. She isn't _dead_. I can't get that sound out of my head, the way her head had sounded hitting the pavement. I can't stop seeing the blood pooling around her, soaking her limp fingers, her eyes barely open and staring.

Optimus's face is so sad when he looks down at me—it just makes me angrier. What right does _he_ have to be sad? This is all his fault—he had given her the okay! And _Ironhide_. He is the best we have, and he couldn't protect her? And the twins—are they _crying?_ They're sniffling, for sure. She was—is—_my_ sister, not theirs!

"No, Optimus," Lennox says, "Ironhide is out there—you need to stay here. For all we know, this is exactly what Megatron wants."

"_I don't care_." Optimus's voice bursts out, and it's honestly terrifying. Lennox, however, doesn't flinch, and I gain a lot of respect for him. _I_ flinched, and his rage hadn't even been directed at me. "We cannot leave her with—_him_." He spits out the last word as though it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Parker still isn't moving.

Somehow, I don't know how, I'm standing. I make it to the table with all the buttons and the keys and the little screens, and I push the small button that connects to Parker's earpiece.

"Parker," I say desperately, not caring how pathetic my voice sounds. "P, can you hear me? Say something, come on; say something."

I'm choking. I'm choking on air, on the fact that _she still isn't moving_. How long has it been?

"Come on," I beg her, pressing the button. "Come _on_."

"Savannah—" Lennox puts a hand on my shoulder, but I shove him away.

"C'mon, Roadkill," one of the twins pleads. "Come on, show 'em you's fakin'!"

"Get up," I beg her. "Please. Please get up. Oh—_God—_" A shuddering breath escapes from my chest as my hand slides off the button. She's still not moving. "I just got you back. _I just got you back!_"

For a moment we're all staring at the screen again, desperate. I can feel the hope in the room, a near-palpable force, gathered around us. Optimus clutches his huge hand into a fist. The word "_please…"_ leaves his metal lips, a soft breath, and the way he says it… I glance up at him through wet, blurry eyes, hating the emotion I hear in his voice. The twins are urging her, but she's not listening. I try the button again, unsure of why I'm torturing myself. All I know is I can't stop. I can't give up on her.

"Parker," I say, trying to steady my voice. "Park, please. Don't do this, okay? Listen. You've gotta come back to me, okay?"

"You promised," Optimus says very faintly, and hearing it in that deep voice breaks my heart a little more.

"Parker, please." I know she can't hear me. Why am I doing this to myself, to everyone else? "Come on, girl, you're strong, you're stronger than this. Park. Please, _please_ don't do this to me, don't leave me behind, I can't do this without you. You—you're supposed to be in my wedding, remember? Parker, I can't do that without you…" I let go of the button, shaking, the urge to vomit suddenly strong. I want to scream. I push the button again, and then I yell, I'm yelling at her. "Parker, _wake up_!"

I'm not sure why I'm screaming. It's not helping, in any case. The ground beneath us trembles, and I glance over my shoulder to see Optimus running toward the hangar door; Bumblebee pulls the lever to close it, shaking his head. The twins follow after Optimus, probably to go with him, but Sideswipe and Ratchet and Wheeljack get in front of him, cutting him off.

"Let me _go,"_ he says in a dark, furious voice.

I ignore them. This is his fault. I _knew_ this would happen. I told them. I told _her_. God, why was she always so _stupid?_ I glance back at the screens, Megatron's voice having drawn my attention.

"Open your eyes," he tells her. The camera wobbles as he nudges her still body. "Do it." I put my face in my hands, praying, making deals with the devil if I have to.

"No, no, no," I keep saying it, over and over, as though it will change things. It won't. How long has it been? How long has it been since she last moved of her own free will? Optimus is yelling behind me—not yelling, really, more like snapping orders that no one is listening to. The commotion is so loud that I almost don't hear it; a very, very, _very_ faint squeak, high-pitched, weak—a sound of pure agony, condensed into one tiny squeak. It tears at my heart, but at the same time, my heart soars.

"There you go," Megatron's voice speaks up, sounding almost relieved. The squeak sounds again, this time with a raspy quality. "Can you move?"

Silence for a while, and we're all frozen. Even Optimus is frozen. Megatron strokes her face, and at his touch, there's another soft, pitiful sound. But it's enough.

"Parker," I breathe hopefully. Optimus walks back to us; everyone is gathered around again. She must move, because Megatron's next words are _encouraging_, as strange as that sounds.

"Good, good," he says, then makes a low growling noise. "You've bled all over me." Another muffled moan. "Be still," he tells her. I see his hands moving around, but can't tell what he's doing. After a moment he swears, then fabric tears. "This will hurt," he warns, and the screen lights up. Ratchet alone seems to understand. Another squeak, this one prolonged, sounds around us—like she's trying to scream but can't. "Be still," he tells her again. "You will bleed out if I don't finish this."

"That's a laser," Ratchet says, "he is cauterizing the wound, I am sure of it." He sounds just as confused as the rest of us—why is _Megatron_, of all people, saving the life of a human? Why is he even trying? He finishes quickly, and she lets out a choked, strangled sound, almost like a sob.

"Parker," I breathe, and though I know she can't hear me, my heart swells when she speaks my name—sort of.

"Nannah," she whimpers, and the _pain_ in her voice makes me murderous. "Svnannah."

"Your brother is dead," Megatron reminds her.

A muffled, horrible, moaning sob. "No," she says, very faintly, the word slurred.

"He died two years ago, Parker," Megatron says, actually using her name. "Do you remember that?" Silence. "Parker? Parker." My heart sinks. No, I think, _no_, she was just moving. She can't be gone again. Megatron nudges her gently. I want him to _stop touching her_. Optimus is seething, but he hasn't left; no one will let him go.

"Open to door, Lennox," Optimus commands, "or I will tear it down myself."

"Optimus—"

"_Now!"_ he barks, and Lennox obeys. He turns away from us and moves toward the hangar door in that familiar, loping gait. "Autobots," he says, the old command, "roll out."

All at once, they all transform, and in the blink of an eye they're gone.

* * *

><p><em><span>Parker<span>_

I'm disappointed when I realize I'm not dead. I would so much rather be dead than face this pain. My head is groggy, muffled, and feels like it's splitting open. I wouldn't be surprised if it actually _is_—I wonder, seriously, if I'm oozing brain goo out all over the ground. Vaguely, I feel that I'm not on solid ground, but I can't open my eyes yet to see. I'm stuck, trapped inside of my own muddled head, my thoughts swirling, slippery, painful. My head pounds in time with my frantic heartbeat.

I feel warm—warm and damp. And cold. Really, really cold. I don't understand. Where _am_ I? _Who_ am I? This question seems more pressing, more urgent, and I struggle to remember my name, my face, something, _anything_, but it proves too much. What _happened_ to me? The last thing I remember—I don't know what I remember. It all hurts too much. I'm not sure of anything at the moment—I'm only fairly certain that I'm not dead, because I've always been under the impression that it doesn't hurt to be dead. And I'm not having an out of body experience. This is different. I was trapped inside my own body, trapped in a cage made up of my own flesh and blood and bone.

I wonder how much time has passed, if any has passed at all. For all I know, it could have been days. I can't feel my body, not yet—only the pain in my head, horrible, splitting. I can't feel my legs, can't feel my arms or my fingers. I struggle to find them in the darkness, but they're gone, and even as I'm thinking, my thoughts are slipping away. I try not to think anymore, because it hurts too much. I hear something—a voice, dully through the murk in my head, sounding distorted. It's almost like I'm under water, and it's hard to make out. The voice is deep, growling.

"Open your eyes," it says, and I want to listen to it, to find that voice. "Do it."

My _eyes?_ I struggle, but the more I struggle, the worse the pain gets. I've never felt anything like this. All at once, I'm aware of _more_ pain, but this time it's not centered in my head. It's somewhere else, on some other part of me, but I can't tell where yet. I still don't know who I am, or who's speaking to me in that deep voice. But, _oh_, I want to listen to it, to do as it says.

Very suddenly, my eyes respond, and they flicker open. Everything rushes in around me, the sounds; quiet, but there's a car alarm going off somewhere ; the smells; metal, something salty. I open my mouth as my body is pounded by the pain. I open my mouth, but I can't make it work; all that comes out is a horrible, pitiful squeak. Tears start to flow from my eyes. I want to curl up, but I can't, because my body still won't respond. I'm still trapped in my own head. I can only flicker my eyelids and twitch my fingers.

"There you go," says the voice, and it makes my head pound, just the sound of it. My ears are very sensitive. I'm crying, but the tears are soft; my body won't even respond to them. "Can you move?"

Can I move? No. I can't. But I try. I struggle to do something, anything other than twitch a finger. After a few moments of silence and struggling—I must look ridiculous, like a corpse—I rotate my hand, just slightly, but it's enough.

"Good, good," says the voice. I don't know who the owner is. I don't know where I am, or who is around me. I still don't know my own name. I realize, very suddenly, that I'm resting on _something_, and whatever it is shifts beneath me, causing my limp arms and legs to move around without my control. "You've bled all over me," says the voice, and I find that strange. I'm bleeding? Why am I bleeding? "Be still," the voice instructs, as though I have any other choice. Something warm and incredibly hard and unforgiving skims over my body, plucking at my clothes, the motions jerking, almost clumsy. Finally, the voice hisses and swears before fabric rips—I realize the things have torn my shirt open.

"This will hurt." I hear the voice only a moment before I feel it, the new pain. It hurts enough that it forces me to clench my teeth, my fingernails digging into my palm. My spine arches weakly, just slightly, of its own accord, my arms twitching spastically. I open my mouth, trying to scream out my pain, but there's only another squeak. I'm not strong enough. "Be still," the voice says again. "You will bleed out if I don't finish this."

I'm breathing almost heavily through my nose and my body writhes again as the pain returns. I catch a horrible smell, like burning flesh, and know, somehow, that it's mine. I manage to groan, the sound coming with each exhalation of breath. The pain is still there, dully, but not searing like before. In the back of my head, a though tries to bloom, bumping insistently against my consciousness. I struggle to unearth it, forcing my lips to move, to make a sound, to speak the word—name?—that's begging to be acknowledged. _Savannah._ Savannah. I know the name. Once I figure it out, my body is rushed again—his face, his voice, his smell, all of it, bombarding my consciousness. I need to speak the name, my _brother's_ name.

My spine arches again as I struggle.

"Nannah," I mumble, the word horribly slurred. I'm stunned by the sound of my own voice. I try again. "Svnannah…"

"Your brother is dead," says the voice, and my heart stops. Dead? No. He can't be dead. I'd just _seen_ him, only hours ago—had it been hours? I wasn't sure. But he'd been alive, he'd been well, and I _swear_ I remembered his voice from what seemed like only moments ago. A sob escapes my throat.

"No," I manage to say, but I almost can't hear the word myself. It's horribly distorted. The voice is speaking to me again, but I don't want to listen. My head is spinning, and I'm trying to remember everything—my brother, my own name, where I am and how I got here, and why my head is hurting. The voice keeps saying the word Parker, and I assume that must be me. My name is Parker. That sounds right. My brother's name is Savannah.

Slowly, it starts coming back to me. The accident. The robots—what had they been called? Autobots? Decepticons? I remembered living with them, with the one called Megatron. A chill settles over me as I remember another. Barricade. As soon as I think the name, it all hits me, like a train, like it had never been gone. And I know. I _know_ what happened. Barricade has attacked me, Megatron had set me free. I recognize the voice now as Megatron's, and I realize he is holding me in his hands, that he's burned my stab wound, somehow, that he'd ripped my shirt open.

I realize I haven't moved for a few moments, and Megatron is prompting me to do so, wondering if I can hear him. I close my eyes hard, trying to center myself, but I feel like the world is spinning around me. I throw my arms out for balance—I'm finally in control of them—to keep from rolling off the edge of his hand, but I know he hasn't moved at all. He strokes along my body.

"Megs," I mumble, bringing a hand up to my head; he stops me with a finger.

"Don't touch," he tells me, pushing my hand firmly back down. The last thing I remember was Barricade stabbing me with that spike. I remember running, and then—nothing. Then I'm waking up, and even now, these last few minutes are a blur, and I can barely remember them. I try to touch my ribs, but he stops me again. My clothes are damp and stuck to my skin; lifting a hand to my face so I can see it, I realize they're wet with my own blood. I moan and squeeze my eyes shut.

"It—_hurts_," I whimper, not even caring how pathetic it sounds. I let out another sob, gasping. "_It hurts._" I can't form full sentences; it's all I can manage to say. Megatron growls as I curl up into myself, digging my nails into my knees to fight off the pain. I let out a wordless cry of pain. And he just holds me, for what I think is a long time. He doesn't move except to shift his weight and stroke me a couple of times. My ribs are burning, and the smell of my own burnt flesh is making me want to throw up. But I'm glad he didn't. I would have bled to death.

"It hurts," I say again, almost like a plea. "Make it stop."

"You must be strong," he says and my eyes flutter shut. He nudges me. "Stay awake."

"Tired," I mumble. But every time I close my eyes, he forces me to open them.

Time stretches, and I'm not sure how much. I'm fairly certain that I'm going to die here, in his hands, but that's okay. At least it won't hurt anymore. I'm just sad that I can't see Savannah or Optimus or the others again. Savannah is speaking in my ear—how long has that been going on? I try to remember, but it doesn't come to me. He could have been there this whole time and I wouldn't remember. I can't make out his words.

"Go back," I mumble to Megatron. "I have to… to go back. _Promised_."

A low, chilling growl rips around me. "They'll be looking for you," he realizes and swears again. He gets down on one knee and situates me carefully so that my feet are on the ground. "Can you stand?"

Of course. He may care about me, but that compassion only extends so far. He knows that if they find him, they will kill him, and no life is worth more than his own. It's sad. But I try to stand anyway, because I want to go home. I have to stand if I want to go home. I'm not sure why or how this makes sense, but in my head, it does and it motivates me.

I'm shaky at first, leaning heavily on his hand, and I know, immediately, that I won't be able to do this for long. The ground tilts dangerously beneath me and I stagger blindly to the right; Megatron catches me with a frustrated growl. I spread my legs wide, trying to find a center of gravity, but there is none. I feel like I'm upside down, somehow. Megatron removes his hand and I topple forward, catching myself with my hands. I curl up into a ball and just cry, because it hurts _so much_.

Savannah is in my ear again, or maybe Lennox or someone else, but I can't focus enough—I can't focus on anything but the task at hand, because anything else hurts too much. I ignore them, gritting my teeth against the pain. Light flashes over us, and I flinch and cover my eyes, snarling at the pain. I hear the sound of someone transforming, and I'm alone. It's just me and the light, and I know, I _know_ it's Barricade. He's come back to finish the job.

"No," I gasp, _"no_." I don't want to die, I realize. It hurts, but I don't want to die.

The ground around me trembles softly, and I curl more tightly into myself, my nostrils filled with the scent of dirt and dry, dead plants beneath my body. I flinch when I feel metal touch my body, but it's not a threatening gesture; someone is trailing what can only be a finger over my body.

"Parker," says a voice, and I immediately recognize it.

"_Ironhide_," I choke, opening my eyes. I look up at him and start to cry—not real sobs, not really, my body doesn't have the strength for that. I'm just crying softly, in pain, and the back of my head touches the ground and I jerk, touching it; my hair is matted with blood, and the simple touch sends stabbing pains through my body. _"Ironhide,_" I say again.

He scoops me up in his hands, holding me against his chest, and he takes off at a jog. "Don't worry," he tells me, "we'll get you home."

On the way back my eyes start to close. I see lights faintly in the distance, but my vision's gone all blurry. "Stay awake," Ironhide urges, using the tone he reserves for when he's commanding one of his soldiers. "Stay with me, girl."

I slump in his hand, closing my eyes. I just want to sleep. Only for a couple of minutes, and then the pain will go away. I wish he would stop bothering me, and, eventually, I'm able to tone out his voice. What happens next is just a murky blur; I'm only half conscious for it. I know we've stopped, and I can hear voices, all of them familiar. I'm moved around, jostled slightly, and a gentle metal hand is holding my head protectively. There's a lot of whirring and scarping and the sounds of multiple transformations.

"We're losing her," says a deep, rumbling voice. "Stay awake, Parker. Stay awake."

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><p><strong>Note:<strong>

**Holy reviews! You guys are the best! You all made me so happy. I'm so glad that (most of you) liked the Megatron/Parker sweetness. And you're right—she probably won't ever be able to truly hate Megatron. I wanted to explain his actions here, briefly. Think about it. She's like his pet, and he has a small soft spot for her. And, considering that she's one of his most loyal minions (as far as he knows) he doesn't really want to lose her, hence why he saved her life. **

**I thought it was a nice twist—that Megatron saves her life, rather than the love interest. I don't see that happening in many stories.**

**Also, this is our first time seeing Parker really, truly incapacitated and weak.  
><strong>

**Reviews = fast updates. Love you guys, thanks for reading!**


	22. Chapter 22

**Note:**** Drugged up Parker, yay! Also, I researched the symptoms of a severe concussion, hence her disorientation and messed-up memories; I wanted her recovery to be realistic! Anyways, sort of a filler, but the next chapter has some cuteness and fluff. :)**

**Forgive any typos!**

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><p><span>Chapter 22<span>

Where _am_ I? And why does it feel like someone's cut the back of my head off with a power saw? I don't remember _anything_. Just flashing lights, red and blue, and then _BAM_—here I am. I feel a chill of fear, remembering the blinking lights, and the darkness. Little fragments come to me slowly—deep voices, blood, more _fear_, and then a sense of security. I squeeze my eyes shut and open them, trying to locate the source of this horrible, _irritating_ sound, a steady, high beeping. Ugh. I move my arms, but find that they're attached to tubes and needles. I can't stop staring at the needle embedded in the soft, vulnerable flesh at my elbow, and another stuck in the top of my hand. The beeping continues, and I finally locate a blinking monitor, timed with the beeps. I stare at it.

"Parker?"

I hear a voice, but I'm too absorbed in the monitor to pay attention. It doesn't matter to me, anyway, it doesn't seem relevant. The beeping is far more interesting, if annoying.

"Parker."

Something touches my knee, and I turn my head away from the monitors; a dark brown hand is resting on my knee, which is covered by sterile-looking white sheets. I stare at the hand, confused, and follow it up a uniform-clad arm, to a set of strong shoulders, and a serious, familiar face. I know this person. I do. It's there, right _there,_ I can feel it. We stare at each other for a few long moments; I can feel blankness on my face, and he looks incredibly concerned for me.

"Hey," he says, squeezing my knee. I shift it away from him; the knee is sore. "How you doing?"

Savannah. My brother. That's who he is.

"Savannah?" I mumble, my tongue thick, sticking to the roof of my mouth. He smiles and relief floods his face. His eyes take on an odd shine.

"Hi," he says, his voice all shaky. "Hi, Parker. How are you?"

"Thirsty," I rasp, and he immediately pours me some water from a pitcher. He places it gently in my hands and I raise it to my lips, taking small sips for only a moment before I down the glass quickly.

"Better?" I stare at the glass and nod. He sits on the bed, resting just beside my legs, pressed against me. My head continued to throb, but the pain is somewhat muted, as though someone had thrown a blanket over it. I press a hand against my forehead in pain, but my fingers fumble against soft bandages. Savannah reaches for me quickly, pulling my hand away from the bandages.

"What happened?" I croak as he laces his fingers with mine. He gives me a gentle squeeze as I stare at his face. I feel numb, sluggish. I know I should be feeling _something_, but I'm just calm and confused. I feel _wrong_. Drugged. I glance at the needles in my skin, realizing that they must be pumping me with painkillers. That would explain the sluggishness, the foggy feeling in my brain.

"Well," he says slowly, "what do you remember?" I glance around the room. Everything is unfamiliar. I wonder if I should remember it, if any of this should trigger my memory. It's like a hospital, but not _quite._ "P?" he says. "Focus, come on. What's the last thing you remember?"

I squeeze my eyes shut, partially to think through the fog and partially in an attempt to block out the pain. Red and blue flashing lights flicker through the blackness in my brain. Far away at first, then closer, and then closer until they're right on top of me—my eyes snap open. He squeezes my hand.

"I remember lights," I mumble. "Red and blue. Like—like a police car." It sounds right, when I say it. A police car. I stare into his eyes. "Was I in an accident?"

"No," he shakes his head, his eyes slightly distressed, but I can tell he tries to hide it. "What else do you remember?"

"Just tell me—"

"Please," he says, and I sigh, trying to think some more.

"I'm drawing blanks," I tell him, shaking my head. "I think—I just feel sluggish. And my head _hurts._" The last part comes out as a sort of whimper, and I lean forward, gripping the sides of my head in my hands, even though he's still holding one of them. He rubs my back, but that hurts, too. My head is spinning. "I don't feel good," I mumble. When I close my eyes, I see the blue and red again, flashing, but the more I focus, the more I start to see—

"Eyes," I gasp, lifting my face to look at him. "The lights. Maybe it wasn't a police car. Maybe it was… eyes?"

Why on earth would it be _eyes?_ But this feels right, too, just as right as the police car had.

"Okay, eyes," he says, nodding.

"Tell me what happened," I say. "Was I in an accident?" He looks confused.

"No, Parker," he says. "You just asked me that."

"No," I tell him seriously. "I didn't."

His eyebrows pull down in concern, and I'm looking at him like he's crazy.

"I'm glad you're okay," he says, giving me another gentle squeeze.

"Tell me what happened," I insist. "Please. I don't like not knowing."

He sighs. "Ratchet says that's not a good idea right now," he tells me. "We need to see what _you_ remember."

"Ratchet?" I murmur, and the name pulls at a memory. I associate it with the color green, but other than that, I don't get anything.

"Yeah," he says very slowly, an edge to his voice. "You know. Ratchet. Tall. Green. Hummer?"

"I remember the Hummer," I tell him, nodding. "Now that you mention it."

"Do you remember what Ratchet looks like?" There's definitely an edge to his voice.

"Blue eyes?" I ask.

"Yes," he says eagerly. "Yes. What else?"

"Nothing," I say, rubbing my eyes. "My head _hurts_."

"I know, I know," he says, and seems jumpy. "You know what? Wait here. I'm going to go get Ratchet."

"Wait!" I yelp as he gets up. "Don't—I—" How do I tell him, my brother, who I love, that I'm afraid I'll forget his face if he leaves? I still feel _wrong_. My head is spinning and I lean back on the pillows.

"I'll be right back," he promises, and jogs out of the room. And he does come right back, this time with another man behind him; three men, I realize, all of them looking urgent. I don't want to deal with this; I throw an arm over my eyes, ignoring the tug of the needles in my skin. Savannah sits beside me, and chairs scrape. Someone touches my elbow and I jerk it away with a tired growl as a static shock jumps between us.

"Parker," says a deep, clinical voice, and I peek out from under my elbow. There's a man standing beside me, fingers grazing my skin; my skin tingles where he touches, still, like it's connected to a thrumming livewire. But it's not painful. The man has a serious, lined face, short brown hair, and glowing blue eyes. I mean literally, they're glowing, casting the skin around his eyes in an eerie blue glow.

I _really_ need to clear this fog in my head. I need them to tone down the drugs. I rub my eyes, but the glow is still there, so intense that I can't see the whites of his eyes; they seem to be entirely glowing blue. Stupid drugs. I moan and look at my brother, who's staring at me intently, looking concerned.

The three new men are all dressed in military uniforms. One of them is more familiar than the rest, with pale skin, warm eyes, and short brown hair; tired stubble lines his jaw, and he meets my gaze as I study him. He's attractive, maybe in his thirties. I struggle to remember his name. I _know_ him.

"Hey, kid," he says, patting my knee. "How you doing?"

I just stare at him, hard. Finally, it comes to me. "Lennox," I breathe, smiling. "Hi."

"Hi," he says. "You got a nasty bump there." He taps the bandages on my head.

"Hurts," I say. I suddenly remember the sound of screeching metal, and the monitors jump with my pulse. "Was I… was I in an accident? What happened?"

My brother shoots the first man a desperate look, and the man's brow creases. Lennox's eyes don't waver from my face, though.

"Why don't you tell me what you remember?"

"Red and blue lights," I say again, "like a police car, or eyes or something. And metal. And darkness." I shrug. "So, what happened?"

"Just let Ratchet check you out real quick," Lennox tells me, "then we'll sort everything out, okay?"

"'Kay," I say. I shift uncomfortably as I realize the other man, the one I haven't checked out yet, it staring intently at my face. I blink and stare right back. There's something oddly, very faintly familiar about him, too. His eyes are blue and glowing like the other man's—Ratchet's. This man has broader shoulders, lighter skin, and darker, short hair. He's attractive, too, with a wide mouth—not exactly _full_, but definitely soft looking—a strong, straight nose, and high cheekbones, cast in the same blue glow. There's something very serious, very somber about him as he stares at me with those drug-induced-eerie-glowing-eyes.

"What?" I finally ask him. He blinks, his eyes seeming to flicker, and then they focus on Ratchet.

"Do something," he says, and his voice is like liquid—smooth, deep, and it makes me feel safe. Ratchet shoots him an annoyed look before leaning over me and catching my attention.

"How're you feeling, Parker?"

"Shitty," I mumble, and my brother lets out a soft breath, almost like a laugh. "My head _hurts_."

"That's to be expected," he says. "You've got a pretty severe concussion."

"Will I be okay?" He gives me a very gentle smile.

"It looks like it, now."

"Where am I?"

"A military base in Washington, D.C."

"How long have we been here?"

"We just arrived. You've been asleep for a little over twenty-four hours, but that's not unusual, considering the medication and brain trauma."

"I should remember you," I tell him apologetically. "But I don't."

"She just remembers the Hummer," Savannah says, and he almost sounds amused. Ratchet gives me another tiny smile.

"Why can't I remember?"

"It's natural," he says. "After a concussion like yours, it's expected. You probably won't remember the events leading directly up to your injury, and right now, your brain is still in a state of shock. Anything not immediately before you will be difficult to remember; it's a defense mechanism, a way of coping and healing."

"How long until I _can_ remember?"

"It shouldn't be long," he says. "With any luck, the more you see, the more you'll remember. You already remembered your brother and Lennox, after all. It won't be permanent."

"But I don't remember _you_," I point out.

"That's, too, is expected," he says. Then, by way of explanation, adds, "I don't normally look like this."

"What do you normally look like?" I'm not confused by his statement. Somehow, it makes sense, feels right that this man in front of me isn't what he _normally_ looks like.

"Why don't _you_ tell _me?_"

I stare at him for a moment, _hard_, but finally sigh and shake my head. "Blue eyes," I tell him, "that's all I'm getting. And tall?"

"Very tall," he chuckles. "Hold still for me, I'm going to run a couple of tests."

"Okay," I say, nodding. He leans forward and touches my head in a couple of places, runs the normal tests, checks my heart rate, all of that. Things run smoothly until he shines a small light directly into my eye. I flinch away with a yelp, covering my eye.

"Ow!" I snap.

"What is it? What's wrong with her?"

"Relax," Ratchet tells my brother. "That's normal." He turns to face me. "For the next few days, you'll probably be very sensitive to light and sound. You may experience some disorientation and dizziness, and maybe even some nausea, and you might be overly emotional for a while and experience strange sleeping patterns. There will also most likely be some severe head pain. How does it feel now?"

"It hurts like hell," I say. "Like… like _really_ bad."

"We'll give you some more morphine, then," he says, and I shake my head.

"No," I tell him. "It's already making me crazy. Right now, it looks like your eyes are glowing."

"That's because they _are_," he says. "Don't worry. It'll make sense soon."

"We were very worried about you, Parker," Lennox says. "You don't remember anything?"

"Nope," I say, "and I'm assuming that's a good thing."

"It is," rumbles the mystery man. His eyes flicker briefly to mine and he touches my hand. Another static shock zaps my skin, and I jerk slightly.

"So," I say, rubbing my hand resentfully, glad that the drugs are keeping me calm. A sudden wave of warm fuzzies washes over me as more drugs enter my bloodstream. I know I should probably be freaking out, but through the pain and the drugs, I can't find it in myself to feel anything but _calm_.

"I'm going to see if we can jog your memory," Ratchet says. "But you have to be patient."

"'Kay," I say airily, leaning back and enjoying the feeling of weightless that is settling over me.

"Alright. I'm going to say a few names and words, and you're going to tell me if they make you remember anything—"

"_Oooh_," I gasp eagerly. The pain in my head is almost a distant memory. "Like word association? I _love_ that game!"

"Yes," he says patiently. "Like that. But with memories. Understand?"

"Yep."

"Okay," he says, and I start to grin. "Let's try…" He pauses thoughtfully, and I wait eagerly for his word, then he gives himself a small nod. "Let's start with this: Mudflap."

"Skids," I answer immediately. I'm not sure where that comes from, but it pops up in the back of my mind. Because there is no _Mudflap_ without _Skids._ It just makes sense, and when I think about it, more starts to come to me. "And… twins, right? Yeah. Twins. And… like an orangey-red color, and green again. Like you," I tell Ratchet, "but not as bright."

"Good, good," he says encouragingly. "Anything else?" I struggle.

"Nope," I say, disappointed. "Nothing."

"It's okay," says the other man gently, the one whose name I still can't find. I look at him curiously, and he reaches out and touches the back of my hand with one finger. I get shocked again, but this time I don't flinch away. In my drugged, blissed-out state, I _like_ the feeling. I give him a huge, loopy smile, and he returns it with a gentle smile of his own. "It will come," he tells me, and I almost can't figure out what he's talking about. He touches the back of my hand again tentatively. Savannah clears his throat loudly, shooting the man a hard look. I just smile.

"Next!" I chirp. "Next word!" Lennox makes a small, amused sound.

"Alright," Ratchet says, sitting by my feet. He glances between Lennox and my brother, who shakes his head.

"Go easy on her," he says. "Nothing too serious." Ratchet nods.

"_Bumblebee_," he tells me.

"Radio," I say back.

"Why _radio?_"

I think for a moment, but come up with nothing. I start to laugh softly. "I dunno," I mumble. "Makes sense. Am I wrong?"

"There is no right or wrong," Ratchet soothes me. "You're doing fine."

"Oh," I gasp, "and _yellow_. And also a Camaro."

"Very good," Ratchet smiles. "What about this: _Roadkill._"

"Me!" I grin. "That one's _me._" And then we're firing them off back and forth, and I'm feeling competitive, and I'm smiling and for some reason everyone thinks it's kind of funny. We've gone through a few more when we finally hit one that makes Lennox and Savannah burst out laughing.

"Optimus."

"Pessimist," I shoot back, and Savannah snorts, Lennox seems to giggle, and then they both start laughing, which makes me laugh, too. Even Ratchet cracks a smile, but the man next to me looks serious and troubled.

"No, no," Ratchet says. "Not opti_mist_. Opti_mus._"

"Ooooh," I say. Then, "Prime. Optimus _Prime._"

"Excellent," Ratchet says, giving the other man a look. He looks mildly relieved before his face grows more serious. "Do you remember a field?"

My brow furrows, and my mind is bombarded with snippets of dark, painful memories. I close my eyes and lean back on the pillows. The nameless man touches my hand again, and then, somehow, our fingers are laced. He gives it a gentle squeeze.

"It's okay," he tells me. "You don't have to think about it."

"Yes she does," Ratchet says before looking seriously into my eyes. "Parker, what do you remember about the field?"

"I don't know," I say quietly, shaking my head.

"I think you do."

"I _don't_," I snap, my eyes flickering open to glare at him. I don't want to think about it. At the mention of the field, it's slowly coming back—metal, the taste of blood, the exploding pain in my head and in my ribs. Flickering red and blue lights, hunting me, stalking me… my skin breaks out in gooseflesh.

"Stop it, Ratchet."

"Optimus," Ratchet says seriously, giving the man a look. Oh, I realize. _He's_ Optimus. Somehow I'm confused. In my head, I'd imagined Optimus as a lot _bigger._ "She has to go there."

I glance between them, between Ratchet, who looks stern, and Optimus, who looks protective. My brother glances awkwardly between them, and Lennox is just watching me carefully, looking mildly upset. Ratchet finally looks at me again.

"Let's try another word," he says. "_Megatron._"

"Bird," I say, and Optimus tenses and my brother sucks in a small breath. Ratchet nods.

"How do you _feel_," Ratchet says. "Anything else?"

"No," I tell him. "That word is safe."

"I see," he says slowly. "Starscream?"

"Bitch," I giggle. "And a jet."

"Tell me about the field, Parker."

"I don't want to," I say, almost whimpering.

"Just try."

"Leave her alone, Ratchet," Optimus growls, but I'm not paying much attention. It's all coming back to me—the sensation of falling, of hitting the ground, of blacking out and waking up in a giant metal hand. But the metal hand doesn't scare me—I'm safe in that hand. I remember the glowing red eyes watching me, soon replaced by blue eyes and a gentle voice.

"Ironhide," I breathe. "He came for me."

"He did," Ratchet says encouragingly. "Tell me what's in your head, Parker."

It takes some coaxing and some reassurance from everyone, but I finally tell them the bits I can remember; the field, standing on a huge metal shoulder, feeling sad, like I was losing something, leaving, being chased—then waking up in a metal hand, red eyes, being left and recovered by a blue eyed metal giant… but it's not very clear, and not at all complete.

"One more word," Ratchet says. "I think it will help. Try: _Barricade_."

I gasp softly at the name and shudder slightly as my blood turns to ice. My lip twitches and curls, and my fingers tighten convulsively around Optimus's hand. I start to cry, hating this roller coaster of emotions—one moment high, giggling, the next having plunged low into fear.

"It hurts," I breathe. "I—he—he's the police car. He changed."

I know I'm not making much sense, but the fragments are just flashing in my mind, only briefly, each one disappearing as another surfaces, struggling to make itself known, going so quickly because my mind can't focus on any one thing for too long. But it really is starting to make sense.

"I just remember being chased," I say, "and waking up in a hand—Megatron's hand."

"That's good, that's fine," Ratchet says gently. "That's enough for now."

"Hush," Optimus tells me, tracing electric patterns on my hand with his thumb. My brother catches sight of this and glares.

"Hey—can you—_don't touch her!_" Optimus lets out a low, familiar sigh, but his hand is comforting, and I need it right now, so I hold on to it. He glances up at me, than at my brother, who looks extremely annoyed. He opens and closes his mouth a few times furiously, but before he can form his words, Ratchet speaks.

"You've been very strong," he tells me, touching my forehead lightly, and I feel the same electrical sensation. His glowing eyes are kind. "Your memories will come back to you soon enough—probably in sleep and though the day. You'll be surprised at what will trigger them." He looks at the others. "My recommendation? Treat her as normal, and treat her like she _hasn't_ suffered memory loss. Talking about events as though she remembers them will trigger them faster."

They all nod, and I'm still crying softly, trying to fight off the scary memories—I don't _want_ to remember them. They spend a few moments calming me down, and I'm wishing the drugs would just take me to that high point again. I don't want to cry anymore.

"Let's leave her," Ratchet says. "Savannah, you can stay, if you'd like."

Savannah nods, and the others all leave. As soon as they're gone, Savannah smiles at me.

"Scoot," he says, and I scrunch over, making room for him on the bed. He stretches out beside me, extending an arm, and I carefully rest my head on it, rolling into him, tucking myself against his body like a child. He rubs my back, carefully not to touch the back of my head. Eventually, just laying there with him, I feel calmer, happier. He seems to sense it and runs his fingers quickly down my sides, across my sensitive ribs, and I giggle, ticklish. His nose scrunches up affectionately as he laughs at me, which makes me laugh more. Eventually, we're both cracking up, laughing breathlessly, and I don't even know why.

"Hey," I tell him, gasping for air. "Hey, Vannah, when did you go _bald?_" I run my hand over his shaved head and he glares. This is absurdly hilarious. _Bald!_

"It's _shaved_," he tells me, "_not bald."_

"It's bald," I giggle. "You're a baldy-bean."

"Why are you _laughing?_" His voice is calm, though, still affectionate. His question makes me laugh harder, even as I try to stifle the giggles. I focus on a blurry point over his shoulder; there's a clock on the wall, but it looks oddly _pretty_. I glance at him—_he_ looks oddly pretty.

"Focus," he says, snapping his fingers in my face, and I start at the sound, and then beam at him and grab his hand in both of mine.

"You—you're _bossy_," I tell him, my words slightly slurred. "Did you know that?" He rolls his eyes, and I gasp, remembering something. "I'm free now!" I cry. "I'm a free bird!"

"Yes, you are," he says.

"_I'm freeee_," I sing, "_as a bird nooow…_"

"No," he says, "don't sing that song."

"_And this bird you cannot chaaaaaange!_"

"Oh, no…"

"_Oh, oooh, oh…"_

"Oh, God, Parker."

"_**And this bird you cannot chaaaaange!"**_

Savannah starts laughing, covering my mouth with his hand, effectively stopping my song. I glare.

"I'm a bird, though," I say, "and I was in a cage but now I'm _free!_"

"Yeah, you're free, P…"

"I'm a bird," I whisper to him urgently, pressing my finger to his lips, smudging his mouth. "Shh… listen."

He listens. A bird chirps outside.

"_My friends!_" I cry ecstatically.

"It's the drugs, huh?" He smiles. "You always were a happy drunk."

"I feel _ah-may-zing_," I tell him, stretching, then curling up against him. "I _looove_ you."

"I love you too," he says gently, kissing the bandages wrapped around my head.

"Do I look like a mummy?" I demand.

"Kind of," he says, nodding.

"Cool!"

"Go to sleep, kid," he says. "Sleep it off."

"_You_ sleep it off. I feel _great!_"

"Parker, shut _up_."

"Sorry," I giggle. "I'm annoying, huh?"

"Just a little," he grins, "but I'm glad you're alive."

"I know," I breathe. "But I still wish someone would just tell me what happened."

"It'll come to you. Just give it a little more time."

I yawn and stretch and tickle his ribs weakly. It takes about a half hour, but all at once the exhaustion hits me and my head gives a painful, but dull, throb. I stare at his face and poke his nose.

"Boop," I say tiredly as I poke it, and he catches my finger in his hand, laughing softly. "Savannah," I whisper.

"Hmm?" he asks, his eyelids drooping. I wonder what time it is.

"Nevermind," I mumble.

"Mmkay," he murmurs, his breath stirring my face. I touch his eyebrows with my free hand and he smiles softly. I snuggle up closer to him and he wraps his free arm around my waist. I tuck my sore head beneath his chin, listening to his steady breathing, my exhaustion taking over. I fall asleep wondering about the dreams I'll have, wondering if, when I wake up, I'll remember or forget everything again.

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><p><strong>NOTE: The song she sings is Free Bird by Lynnard Skynnard. I think I spelled that right. Anyways, next chapter we get some fluff. Yay!<strong>

**Review? Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it! **


	23. Chapter 23

**NOTE: Just a calm, cutesey, fluffy chapter. I made it longer than normal to make up for the wait. Some serious things are addressed, but it's done in kind of a sweet way. Almost entirely OP/Parker :) Enjoy! I loved writing this chapter. I love Optimus—the way every time he says "I" he stops himself and says "we" instead. **

**Also—Parker is mildly doped up in this chapter, which is why she's so… open, I guess?**

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 23<span>

I remember pretty much everything now.

It had been difficult, at first. Those first three days I still can't remember much of, but apparently I'd been quite comical while I'd been drugged up and high. Now, however, I remember most of that night, up until I'd been stabbed. Everything is still blank after that, and then I just remember tiny bits—Megatron burning me to save my life, for instance. But the only thing I remember clearly after being stabbed is being in the DC army base infirmary area and being tended to by Ratchet and another doctor.

Five days have passed, total, since I'd been nearly killed. Ratchet says I'd cracked my skull—just a tiny, tiny fissure, but cracked, nonetheless. I'm not too worried about it, though. As long as I take my pain pills, the pain is reduced to a constant throb, an ache. Barricade had also managed to stab me between two of my ribs but, thanks to Megatron (and Ratchet had admitted this grudgingly) I had survived and not bled to death.

I'd been let out of bed for the first time yesterday, because I had insisted—I was _sick_ of lying around, doped up, with nothing to do. And as much as I _loved_ the airy, carefree feeling the drugs provided, I'd also insisted that I be weaned. I prefer to be alert and in my right mind. I'd been reunited with the twins again yesterday, which had been really sweet. Ratchet and Optimus had had to yell at them to be gentle with me, which they had done to the _max_, having been so careful that it was actually funny. I'd talked to Bumblebee a little bit, too, and Sideswipe, and Wheeljack had been sternly kept away from me. I hadn't had time to visit Optimus or Ironhide, because Ratchet, Lennox, and Savannah had all forced me back to bed.

That's my goal for today: talk to Optimus and Ironhide. Training ended about an hour ago, from the sound of it, and my brother had already visited me. He'd left about ten minutes ago to take a shower. For now, I am alone, and it is the perfect opportunity to escape—and I mean _escape_, because someone is always attached to my side, watching over me, making sure I don't die in my sleep. Now that I'm alone, I'm going to take advantage of this opportunity.

I peel back the white covers and swing my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet making little noise. It's not a long walk to the doors and to the hangar, but given my current, unbalanced state, I feel like I need to ninja my way out of here. The simplest things seem like a collision course now, this new base a maze—add in my lack of a sense of direction and the way the ground is constantly tipping beneath my feet, and it's a near impossible task.

I giggle softly to myself. _Mission: Impossible_. Ha!

I close my eyes, steeling myself. This isn't funny—it's just the drugs making me loopy. I still have to take pills, because if I don't, the pain leaves me completely incapacitated and useless. Biting my lip, I stand slowly, swinging my arms out and pin wheeling them for a moment before I gain my balance. I smile triumphantly when I don't fall over. Placing one hand on the bed behind me just to maintain my balance, I ready myself for the hard part: _walking_.

_Just one foot in front of the other,_ I urge myself. _Quickly, before they come for you._

I nod to myself and carefully lift my right foot, still leaning on the bed with one hand, and place it on the floor in front of my left. I shift my weight and the ground tilts dramatically as I take my hand off the bed. With a yelp I fall over, my shoulder hitting the ground. I grunt and roll over, gathering my feet beneath me, looking something like an awkward baby giraffe before I get to my feet, where I sway, staggering. But at least I manage to stagger closer to the door, which I slam ungracefully into with a small groan.

I slowly open it and head out, following the hallway toward the hangar, my steps long and drunken as I lean heavily against the wall. The soldiers are giving me strange, amused looks, shaking their heads; they all know who I am and what I've been through. I press my finger to my lips at them as they pass me, and, luckily, no one rats me out.

It seems to take for_ever_, but I finally make it to the hangar and open the door carefully, poking my head in. I take another moment to steady myself and walk inside, trying to remain as straight and balanced as possible. The huge door is open, and I can see the night outside through it; it's later than I thought it was, I realize. How long had it taken me to get here?

Optimus and Sideswipe are outside, but Ironhide is closest to me. I lean in his direction and stagger like a drunk again. I catch myself against a steel table, straighten out, and slowly, one foot in front of the other, I make my way to Ironhide, who's in his Topkick form. When I reach him I lean against him, closing my eyes for a moment against the dizziness. But I'm smiling hugely, my heart elated, because _I did it_ all by myself.

"Hello, Ironhide," I tell him, my words airy and slightly slurred, leaning my cheek against the cool black metal, rubbing my hands over his hood. The coolness feels good against my skin. He shifts beneath me, pulling back slightly, and I take the hint and back away. He transforms, crouching down in front of me.

"Hello, Parker," he says in his deep voice, and I remember how it had sounded when he had picked me up. I remember him ordering me to stay awake—one of the few things that stand out to me clearly is his voice. "How is your head?"

"Dandy," I say sarcastically. My head is still wrapped entirely in bandages; I can't see or feel my hair at all beneath them, but I know it's there. "Nah, I'm okay," I say more seriously. "I feel a little funky, but, hey, at least I'm alive, right?"

"Yes," Ironhide chuckles, "at least there's that."

I smile. "Anyway," I say, "I kind of just wanted to thank you. For, you know, coming for me."

He seems to give an inaudible sigh, his eyes darkening. He surprises me when he says, "You got blood all over my hands." And it actually makes me laugh.

"Sorry," I say. "Couldn't really help it." It suddenly strikes me that Ironhide probably isn't very good with this touchy-feely, emotional, heartfelt stuff, and neither am I, to be honest. It would explain why he looks so uncomfortable. I reach up and pat his leg. "Really, though," I tell him. "Thank you."

"Of course," he tells me, then glances outside. I follow his gaze; Optimus is alone now, Sideswipe having just rolled inside. I look back up at Ironhide, and he gives me a _look_, one eyebrow raised.

"What?" I scoff, shifting uncomfortably. He gives me another _look_. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Are _you_ going to go and keep him company?" Ironhide's voice is mildly amused, but somewhat stern. "Or do _I_ have to do it?"

I shrug, giving him a mischievous grin. "Well, I know he's your BFF and all, so if you want to hang out with him…"

"Get out of here," he tells me. He reaches down, almost instinctively, to knock me over, but freezes in his tracks and withdraws his hand. I pat his finger as he moves it away before spinning around (which causes the world to keep spinning even after I've stopped) and making my way out to Optimus.

"Hey," I say when I reach him, and repeat his old question back to him: "Mind if I join you?"

"Of course not," he says, looking down at me. I stand beside him, trying not to sway, and he lowers himself beside me, one leg braced flat on the ground. I lean against the leg, grateful for the support it provides. He tucks one huge finger beneath my chin, tilting my face up to him. I smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay," I say, placing my hands on his finger. "Better, now that I'm with _you_," I tease, and he chuckles. There is a silence, and it's almost awkward, and I'm thinking about my night with Megatron, before Barricade got to me—I'm thinking about the things we'd said, and about the fact that he heard everything. "Optimus?" I murmur after a while.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry," I start, but he looks startled.

"_Sorry?_" He looks slightly confused. "What for?"

"For—I don't know," I mutter, and he reaches down, allowing me to climb onto his hand, where I sit and he lifts me to eye level. He cups his free hand around my body, and I lean into it. "For everything, I guess—everything that happened with Megatron the other night—"

He doesn't seem to be following. I rub my forehead.

"I didn't think it would go like that," I finally say. "I didn't think that I would still—_love him_." I blurt out the last part, knowing it's true, and it feels good to finally say it. I don't love him romantically, of course, ew, but I do love him like family. I can't meet Optimus's eyes when he looks at me. He uses his thumb to tilt my face up again.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he tells me very seriously. "While I admit that it was—difficult—for me—for _all_ involved—" he pauses for a moment "—he _was_ the closest thing you had to family. We may not like it, but we can try to… understand it."

"So you're not mad? Be honest."

"I wanted to be," he says, "and I still do, but… Megatron is as manipulative as they come and, at some level, I suspect his fondness for you was genuine. But it does… bother me."

"I'm sorry," I say again, "I didn't _want_ to feel that way, and _God_ I wish you didn't have to hear it—" He silences me with a finger placed gently against my lips, but I shake my head, pushing the finger away. I need to say this. "And I love him—I don't _want to_—I want to hate him, but I don't. But, Optimus—I love you, too. I do. And I love Mudflap and Skids and Bumblebee and Ironhide and Sideswipe and Lennox, and I know I'll love Wheeljack, too. I just—I know you want me to see him as evil, but I _can't, _not yet. I know what he is; a coward, and he can be cruel… I _want _to hate him. I do… I don't know. But I _can _promise I'll never go back to him."

"And that is enough," he says. "I cannot force you to feel the way that I wish you would, but I—care—very deeply, for you." He seems to take a breath. "As difficult as it is for me—for _all of us_—I would rather have you here and loving him, still, than not have you at all." He seems to hesitate a moment before continuing. "I will not let him take you from me. He won't come between us, not again."

I nod slowly, feeling suddenly incredibly sad. "I'm screwed either way, aren't I?" I ask him.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean this. Us. This war. Either way, someone I love is going to get hurt." Optimus closes his eyes for a moment, heaving a heavy sigh, his breath tickling my face. "I don't want you to fight," I whisper. "What's wrong with peace?"

"Peace is no longer an option," Optimus tells me seriously, sadly. "Megatron will not accept peace; he has made that clear enough."

"I know," I breathe.

"I am sorry," he tells me, tilting my face up again, meeting my eyes. "I wish you had never gotten involved in our war. What you said, once, was correct—this isn't _your_ war."

I shrug. "It is now," I tell him. "All of my families are involved: Autobots, Decepticons, and my brother. I'm caught in the middle, and it sucks."

"And you've ended up the worse for it," he tells me pointedly, running a finger over my bandaged head.

"Yeah," I say, "and I know, I _know_ that you guys are on the right side—you never lied to me, never manipulated me, you _protect_ us—and if I had to choose a side to win this war, it'd be yours. I'm loyal; know that."

A quiet settles around us, but it isn't awkward; it's thoughtful. Optimus breaks it.

"Why did he call you his _bird_?"

"Hmm?" I blink and my head throbs. "Oh. I dunno. He always called me that, from day one. And his pet. He told me once it was because of my last name: Rook. A rook is a bird, like a raven or something. Plus, I was always perched on his shoulder, so…"

"I see."

"But I'm a free bird now," I say, feeling the slow smile tugging at my lips. Savannah had said I'd sung to him, and the thought is too embarrassing and absurd to consider. "Thanks to _you._" I give him a big smile, but his face is serious.

"I—_we_—almost lost you, thanks to me."

"No, no, no," I tell him quickly, "don't you even start. That wasn't your fault. That was my fault, and it was Barricade's fault."

"I shouldn't have let you go. You were nearly killed, and for that I am sorry."

I roll my eyes. "If you hadn't let me go, I would still be his little pet. I'd take a cracked skull over that any day."

"Don't say that."

"Why not?"

"You weren't there, in the room," he tells me, "watching the monitors, watching _you_ be stabbed and nearly killed. It was more horrible than you can imagine." I'm quiet again, looking down at my hands in my lap. "We all felt helpless," he goes on, "we could see everything, but we were unable to stop it." His fist clenches beside me, and I edge away; there's a serious, angry tone to his voice now. "_I should have been there._ And, instead, your life rested in Megatron's hands."

Yeah, he's _definitely_ pissed off. His hand is still clenched, and his fingers twitch around me. His face is turned away from me, staring hard at something in the distance. I gulp and reach out for him; I'm close enough to touch his face, and he looks almost startled when my fingers come into contact with his metal.

"Hey," I say, "look at me. Please?" He blinks, turning his face, his eyes flickering to mine. "Good," I tell him. "Now, just… relax this fist… delicate human in your hands, remember? I don't really feel up for being crushed."

"I would never hurt you."

"I know," I say, "but still, it's a tad bit uncomfortable, sitting in the hands of an emotionally distressed metal giant. Now," I say, my hand still on his cheek. "Can you relax, please? I'm fine. You're fine. We're all fine, here. No one is blaming anyone else, _right?_ Right. See? Everything's _good_. Stuff happens sometimes, it's the way of life. Can we move on, please?"

I smile up at him and pat his cheek. He rubs his forehead with his hand, shaking his head slightly, which only makes my smile grow. I pull my hand away and turn in his hand, playing idly with his huge fingers, reaching up and bending them, thinking. He wiggles his fingers.

"What are you doing?"

"I have no idea," I say, but I'm enjoying it. I grab his middle finger and pull it down to me, wrapping my arms around it. I know the drugs are playing a huge part in my odd, giddy behavior, but at the same time, I'm pretty sure I'm just happy to be alive and sitting here, with him. Still holding his finger, I look up into his face and find him watching me, smiling fondly. I lean my head against his finger.

"I don't want to lose you, Optimus Prime," I tell him gently. "So please be careful in this war, okay? You're kind of special to me." I actually blush—I can't remember the last time I blushed, head trauma aside. God, I'm such an idiot. What am I even saying?

"Has it occurred to you," he says, "that I care for you, as well? _You_ are the one foolishly risking your life. If I lost you—if _we_ lost you—"

"You won't," I assure him. "I'm like a cockroach. Impossible to kill." Someone shoot me now before I say anything else completely stupid and embarrassing—in my defense, though, my statement isn't completely out there and irrelevant; Barricade had always called me a cockroach for this exact reason. Optimus just lacks the back story. "Anyway," I say quickly, still blushing. "Can we talk about something else? Something less depressing?"

"Well," he says, "seeing as I'm still trying to get to know _Parker_, tell me something about yourself."

I look at him skeptically, but he seems genuinely interested. So we talk, and tell him about myself—I actually spend most of the time talking about my dad, for some reason. I wonder if he would be proud of me, and Optimus tells me that he is sure my father would be proud of my strength and determination, which makes me incredibly happy, especially since it comes from Optimus. I beam up at him when he says this, and he brushes a knuckle affectionately against my side.

"So," I say after a while, moving on, "how do you like D.C.?"

He just shrugs. "I haven't had much chance to see it."

"You'll love it," I tell him. "It's gorgeous."

And then we're quiet again, and I'm sitting in his hand, leaning on his chest, and for a moment, just that moment, it feels like it used to—me and him, just sitting together, enjoying each other's company. But so much has changed, and the moment passes, and I can feel it hanging in the air between us. But it's better—things _have_ gotten better, and I wonder if it has anything to do with my near death. He's trying, I can tell he's trying, and it means the world to me.

"Hey," I tell him, rubbing his chest gently. "Thank you."

"What for?" His voice is a low rumble.

"For this. For hanging out with me. For trying to start over. I know it's hard."

"It was hard," he clarifies, "but when you nearly died, I realized again just how delicate and fleeting human life is. I don't want to spend that time being angry with you."

I sigh softly and snuggle against his chest.

"You're the best," I say, which earns a low laugh. I understand what he's saying; while I'm not necessarily _forgiven_, he isn't mad anymore, either. We've reached a point of acceptance. "I would hug you right now, if I could," I tell him with a laugh, and he lets out another low chuckle. I shrug. "Oh, well. You're too big for your own good," I laugh, then stop, a thought occurring to me. "Hey, Optimus? How do Cybertronians show affection?"

He looks slightly taken aback.

"I mean, touch-wise, do you do anything?"

"Not really," he says, "we aren't as physical as humans are."

"Oh," I say, slightly disappointed.

"Usually, though," he says after a moment, "one shows affection by touching another's face."

"Hmm," I say, "is that why you guys are always touching my face and head and petting me and all that?" He nods.

"Because you're so much smaller than we are, it's the safest thing we can do."

"Oh," I say again. "So you guys don't hug or anything?"

"No," he laughs, and I grin at the thought of two gigantic robots hugging.

"Well, then, what would be the _Cybertronian_ equivalent of a hug?"

"Why are you asking?"

"Well because I can't _hug_ you right, duh. You're too big." If it wasn't for the drugs in my system, I think vaguely, I would _never_ be having this conversation with him. But, as it is, I want to know the answer.

"We…" he pauses, looking almost uncomfortable. "We touch foreheads."

"Like hand to forehead, or forehead to forehead?"

"Either," he says, "but forehead to forehead is an intimate gesture, generally. More intimate than your _hugging_."

"So you wouldn't go bump foreheads with Ironhide?"

"No," he laughs again.

"So it's like a kiss?"

He shrugs. "I have never _kissed_," he says, sounding amused. "I wouldn't know."

"Well does it give you the warm fuzzies?"

This gets another laugh from him. "I suppose it is—similar, in that aspect."

"Are your foreheads really sensitive or something?"

"Our faces are," he says. I nod, filing this all away. "Satisfied?" he asks me, his tone amused, and I grin.

"Yep," I tell him. "Thanks. I always wondered about that."

He heaves a sarcastically exasperated sigh, and I give him a look, thumping him on the chest, which makes him laugh at me affectionately. I stretch my arms above my head, causing the burn at my ribs to stretch painfully, and I yawn.

"Stupid pain pills," I mumble, and the strokes a massive finger gently along my jaw line—now that I know this is the Cybertronian way of showing affection, the gesture means that much more to me.

"You should rest," he tells me, his voice deep and authoritative, but also affectionate.

"I'm so tired of being tired," I grumble. "This concussion thing _sucks_."

"You will heal," he tells me reassuringly.

"I know," I grouch, yawning again. "Christ," I say, "Ratchet was right. One second I'm wide awake, the next I'm dead tired."

Optimus chuckles. "To bed," he says, and I nod.

"Yes, sir."

He lowers me carefully to the ground, where I climb out of his hand and stumble for a moment.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah," I say, "just—you know that whole _balance_ thing."

"Do you need my help?"

"I think I've got it."

I take a step, but the world spins violently and I get a massive headrush. I groan and fling my arms out to catch myself, but Optimus's finger is there instead, and I collide with it. I start laughing and wrap my arms and upper body over it, grinning up at him, feeling embarrassed.

"Hold on," he tells me, lifting me off the ground, my legs dangling as I cling to him. He rests me gently in one hand and walks into the hangar, bringing me as close as he can to the medical area. When he can't go any farther, due to his size, he sets me on the ground again.

"Thanks," I tell him, leaning against the wall.

"Can you make it from here?"

"Probably," I say doubtfully, "as long as I have a wall to lean on."

He just shakes his head at me. "Don't move," he tells me, and I nod vigorously, which only makes me dizzier. The dull ache in my head has intensified to a searing, almost blinding pain, now that I'm on the ground and standing. I would give anything to be sitting again. Optimus transforms in front of me, leaving me slightly confused as to why he wanted me to stick around for this. I press a hand to my temple and massage it gently through the bandages; Optimus's door opens and I glance up in time to see a man step out—a man dressed in a military uniform, with short, dark hair, light skin, and a serious face.

"Oh—hey!" I gasp, keeping my fingers to my temple. "It's _you!_" I grin.

"It's me," he says, closing the door behind him. I'm staring at his face, completely dumb- and awestruck. This man—he looks _exactly_ like Optimus Prime. Just… human. Everything about the man is essentially, completely _Optimus_, from the straight nose, to the strong jaw line, to the glowing blue eyes—eyes so brightly glowing that it's nearly impossible to make out the iris form the white.

"Hi," I say, smiling through the pain.

"Hello." He looks uncertain in this body, out of his element—I remember that Barricade and Starscream had never seemed entirely comfortable in their holoforms, either.

"Wow," I breathe, "you look just like _you_." This earns a soft smile, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. Something about his face, the seriousness in the eyes triggers a memory. My mouth opens in surprise. "You were with me, weren't you? When I woke up the first time?"

"I was," he says with a nod, stepping closer. My eyes rake over him, taking him in, intrigued but slightly unnerved at the same time. I remember the electrical, static feeling of him holding my hand.

"This is too weird."

He freezes. "I can deactivate it, if it—"

"No, no," I say, "it's fine. I'm just… wow." And then I laugh softly before wincing. "Ugh. I need my pills."

"Come on," he says, "let's get you back."

I can only stare at him as he approaches me, and I unconsciously press back into the wall slightly. It's just too _strange_—hearing his voice come from the body of a man. And a man he is, not a boy; he seems to be in his mid thirties at least. He notices my apprehension and stops only about a foot in front of me.

"Parker," he says, "just say the word, and I'll deactivate it."

"No, really, it's fine." I reach out a hand curiously. "Can I… can I touch it?"

"If it makes you feel better."

He stands still as I press two fingers slightly into his chest. Even though I've felt him before—holding my hand only days ago and pressed firmly against me the day I'd tried to run away—I'm somehow expecting my fingers to go straight through him, so I'm a little surprised when they meet solid _him_. And then I smile softly.

"This is so—weird. Cool. But weird."

I look up from my hand on his chest and meet his eyes; they're warm and affectionate. "Done?"

"For now."

He chuckles, and I catch a flash of white teeth. "Come on," he says, edging closer to me and sliding an arm around my back, tugging me so that my side is pressed against his. It takes a few moments, but I'm obviously still unsteady. I hate it, I hate looking so weak in front of him, especially when he makes me stop and just slings his arm under me, lifting me bridal-style. "There," he says, "much better."

I loop my arms around his neck and give him a dirty look. "I can use my legs, thank you."

"Of course," he says, "however, I think we should make it back _before_ this time tomorrow."

"Ha-ha," I snort, but I take this chance as an opportunity to take him in. His body is _hard_ beneath mine, just as hard as robo-Optimus and the Peterbilt. And, the more I look at him, the more I realize he doesn't look exactly _human_. He's different—subtly, yes, but different.

"You know," I tell him as we enter the medical area, "you don't really look human. You look too—exotic. If that makes sense. Not perfectly human, anyway."

He isn't _perfect_ and _beautiful_ or anything—good-looking, yes, but he is flawed. But that's not what I mean—something about the shape of his glowing eyes, and the way his wide mouth is set—something about him tickles my instincts, and makes it clear to me that he isn't human.

"That's because I'm _not_ human," he tells me, setting me down on the bed. He pulls away from me hesitantly, still looking nervous, uncertain, almost. Definitely uncomfortable. It strikes me that he probably doesn't particularly _like_ it in this form—none of the Decepticons had.

"You okay?"

"Yes," he says. "And you?"

"Fine," I lie.

"Parker."

"Ugh," I sigh, "Fine. My head hurts. I need my pain pills."

He reaches for the little bottle beside my bed and empties a couple of them out into his hand, pressing them into mine. An electric shock darts between us and I jerk back.

"What was that?"

"It just… happens," he says, "when I use this form."

"Do you use it often?"

"No. Its primary purpose is to help us blend in with the humans—to make it appear as though we are driving, for instance. Not for carrying human girls to bed."

I blush. "Sorry."

"It wasn't any trouble," he reassures me. "I prefer it over you falling and harming yourself."

"I'm not _that_ bad," I grumble.

"You'll get better," he chuckles, "in time. Just rest. It's only been five days."

"I know," I sigh, tilting my head back and swallowing the pills. "Did you know the aftereffects of a concussion can last for _months?_ I don't want this for _months_."

"You are strong," he tells me. "And Ratchet says we have no reason to believe it will last for more than a couple of weeks."

"That's a long time."

"You cracked your skull," he points out.

"Hmph."

He gives a low laugh and touches my arm, zapping me again. But, this time, I don't flinch. I stretch out, leaning my head back carefully on the pillows, and Optimus adjusts the blankets idly, as though he's not sure to do with his new, small, nimble hands. My eyelids droop slightly and I smile up at him.

"I'm out," I mumble. "G'night, Optimus Prime."

"Good night, Parker."

He turns to leave, but I snatch his hand, curling my fingers around one of his. He looks at me curiously, eyebrows raised. "Wait," I say. "Come closer." He does so cautiously and I prop myself up on my elbows. I can feel a blush starting under my skin, and I'm thankful for my dark coloring—it's nearly impossible to tell when I blush. Carefully, slowly, I reach up with my left hand and press my palm against his forehead, grinning.

He looks startled at the contact at first, little sparks of electricity singing between us, but then he smiles softly, his eyebrows drawn downward slightly. He kneels beside the head of my bed, keeping my palm against his forehead, and reaches forward to gently, very gently, brush his palm over my forehead; my stomach flutters.

"Like this," he says, and I realize I'm doing it wrong. It's just a slight brush, a soft touch—not practically thunking him on the head as I'd just done.

"Oh," I say, pulling my hand away, grinning, embarrassed. "Oops." His smile is full, showing his teeth, his eyes crinkling at the sides. He gives me an encouraging nod and I try again, very lightly brushing my palm against his forehead, my fingertips brushing his short, dark hair; he does it to me again, simultaneously, his fingertips very softly, feather-lightly dusting over my cheek and jaw as he pulls away.

"Better?" I ask him hopefully, my heart doing strange little things in my chest.

"Perfect," he says, "as good as any Cybertronian." And I smile.

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><p><strong>NOTE: Review? Please and thank you! <strong>


	24. Chapter 24

**NOTE: Just in case anyone's wondering, Megatron went to Africa or wherever he was in the start of DOTM. Mudflap/Skids/Parker fluff ahead! Sorry for the wait. This chapter is shorter than most because I wanted to get it to you ASAP. I've been INCREDIBLY BUSY lately! Also, some OP/Parker flirting yaaaaay!**

**Oh, and if Parker seems happier in the last few chapters… that's because she IS. Think about it—she just got free of Megatron; she has nothing to worry about.**

**Forgive typos. I didn't have time to read this too much.**

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><p><span>Chapter 24<span>

Two more weeks have passed, and I feel a _lot_ better. The dizziness has all but vanished, the headaches, while still there, are considerably less painful, and I've pretty much stopped forgetting things. Optimus and I have talked pretty much every day these past two weeks, and I haven't seen his holoform since that night. I've also stroked his forehead nearly every night since the first time, too.

The worst part of these last two weeks was when Ratchet took my bandages off and allowed me to look in a mirror. Savannah and Lennox had been there, too, and I hadn't missed the apprehension in their eyes. It only took me a moment to figure out why. Looking at myself, I noticed something _off_ about my short, curly hair. I'd reached around to touch it and had soon discovered the problem—all along the gash at the back of my head were sharp, wiry stitches. Stitches, but _no hair_. I'd gasped, my eyes flying open wide as I felt along the bald strip.

"_Who did this to me?"_ I'd cried, and Lennox and Savannah had practically shoved Ratchet forward, pointing at him. I stared at him, feeling my eyes burn and start to water. "_Why?_" I'd asked pleadingly. I knew it was stupid, crying about a little bald strip at the back of my head—I could have been _dead_, after all. But I'll be the first to admit that I'm a fairly vain person. I'm not proud of that fact, really, but I won't deny it, either. "My hair!" I'd choked, and Ratchet had soothed me, telling me it would grow back. It had already started; there was a tiny bit of fuzz, but it just looked _stupid_.

So when they'd decided I didn't need full bandages, I'd adopted a beanie and an army-print baseball cap, tucking all of my hair up into it moodily. I'm free to walk about base as I please now, just as long as I stay out of the way and don't bother anyone. I'd also started working again, washing the bots and cleaning the hangar like old times. I'd insisted, actually, because I was tired of being useless.

That's what I'm doing tonight again, and I _love_ it. The only bad thing is that I'm nocturnal again, and I don't see Savannah as much as I'd like. But in the nearly three weeks since my concussion, I'd been able to repair my relationship with the twins, and I was on good terms with everyone else, it seemed. Wheeljack especially seems to appreciate my company, mostly because he likes to check me out—he's fascinated by my body and my lack of natural weaponry and armor. Optimus generally tries to keep us separate because Wheeljack is somehow _never_ gentle with me. In fact, ever since Barricade had nearly killed me, everyone has been treating me like I'm made of glass, and I'm getting sick of it.

I've just finished scrubbing Wheeljack down, sending him back inside; I'm done for the night. Mudflap, Skids, and Bumblebee are outside with me, as usual. But they haven't been acting like their goofy selves lately. Mudflap and Skids have been literally _tip-toeing_ around me—so different from my first night with them when they'd nearly crushed me. And Bumblebee's been hanging around me more than usual when they're around, too, giving them warning looks and gestures whenever they stray too close to me.

Seriously, it's getting annoying.

I'm leaning against Mudflap's leg, my arms crossed, watching Skids and Bumblebee sparring. Since Skids is finally healed, he's been out of commission for a while, and he wants to improve his skills. It's a good fight, but Bumblebee consistently has the upper hand. Skids keeps scoffing, stating that Bumblebee wouldn't stand a chance if he wasn't so out of shape, and it makes me and Mudflap laugh.

Mudflap sits beside me and I lean on his arm instead, but he finally turns his head to look at me.

"You wan' up, Roadkill?" he asks, tapping his shoulder.

"Really?" I chirp; I've never sat on an _Autobot's_ shoulder before. "Yes!"

He gives me a goofy grin and gently, ever so gently, reaches down with both hands and locks them around my waist, lifting me. My feet connect with the plates near his shoulder, my fingers curling around one of the joints as I lift myself up and into a seated position; I lean my body against him, wrapping one arm around his head; he leans his head affectionately into me.

"Nice view," I tell him, stroking my fingers over the metal.

"Skids gon' get 'is ass handed to 'im," Mudflap says, sounding superior.

"Hey!" Skids hollers, "I heard dat!" Using the distraction, Bumblebee decks him in the face, effectively leveling him.

"Bumblebee," I cry, looking at Skids as he rubs the side of his face, looking resentful. "Don't be so harsh!"

"Don' worry," Skids tells me, looking embarrassed, "I got this." I smile encouragingly and shoot Bumblebee a dirty look. They fight for a while longer, and Skids manages to knock Bumblebee down a couple of times, throwing his shoulders back arrogantly every time he does. The final time Skids flattens Bumblebee to the ground he throws his arms up triumphantly and I cheer for him while Mudflap applauds. Bumblebee gets to his feet behind him, though, and punches him, knocking him to the ground, laughing.

"Cheap shot!" I cry furiously as Skids rolls to his feet, swearing. He looks embarrassed, scratching the back of his head, and glances at me.

"Good job, Skids," I call, shooting Bumblebee another dirty look. "That's what we humans call a _sucker punch_." Bumblebee spreads his arms out wide in a _what the hell?_ gesture, and I smirk at him. I reach my arms out to Skids like a child asking to be picked up. He shoves past Bumblebee, who looks confused at us; Bumblebee finally waves us off in aggravation, transforms, and drives back into the hangar. I laugh at him. Skids walks over to me, his arms reached out toward me, and lifts me _gently_, _so gently_, in his hands.

"Hi," I tell him as he brings me up to his face; I wrap my arms around his head and snuggle him briefly as he does the same thing to me. It's easier to hug Skids and Mudflap because they're smaller in comparison to Optimus—only around eleven feet tall in comparison to his thirty-two. Plus, I've sort of reserved the hand-to-forehead touching for Optimus _only_. Somehow, that feels more right for him than wrapping my arms around him and _snuggling_ him. He doesn't seem to be the snuggling type, not like these guys.

Skids shifts me in his grasp so that I'm sitting in his palm, my legs dangling over the edge of his hand. He pokes my nose with a finger playfully and I grab onto it, my lips curling back into a playful snarl.

"Gimme dat back," he tells me, tugging his finger from my grasp as I laugh.

"You did well, Skids," I tell him, stroking his wrist; he looks a little down. His eyes narrow slightly and he looks mildly disappointed with himself. "Hey," I tell him, reaching forward and grabbing his chin in my hand, forcing him to look at me. I give him a huge smile, which he returns dully. "You really did do well. You've been off your feet for a while—you fought in, what, one battle since? And saved my life, remember? Don't be so hard on yourself."

He reaches up and strokes the top of my head with one finger, his touch following the length of my spine.

"Thanks, Roadkill," he says, chucking me under the chin. I snap my teeth at his finger as Mudflap stands up beside us, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Roadkill's right," he tells him, and the open affection between the two brothers warms my heart—they're so often fighting that it's nice to see them being kind and encouraging to each other. But I guess nearly losing your other half will do that to you; my brother's been treating me much in the same way lately.

Skids holds me close to his chest, and I can hear his Spark—heart?—humming faintly through the metal. I place my hand gently against it as he continues to gently stroke my spine before Mudflap holds out his hand for me.

"You best be careful," Skids says warningly as Mudflap picks me up. It's always amused me how these two have _never_ asked for my permission before grabbing me, in comparison to Optimus, who _always_ asks first.

"Guys," I pipe up as Skids gingerly grabs me about the waist and sets me on his shoulder. "I'm not that fragile, you know."

The two glance at each other apprehensively.

"We know," Skids tells me. "But we don' wan'choo getting' hurt no mo'."

"Yeah," Mudflap says, "'specially on accounta us."

They look like they're hiding something; their eyes are shifty.

"What?" I ask. "What else is it? Did Ratchet tell you something? He's just overreacting—I'm _fine_."

"Nah," says Mudflap, "it wasn't Ratchet."

My eyes narrow suspiciously. "Well then, tell me. I know when you're lying—"

"Yo! Hey, boss!" Skids cries suddenly, and I crane my neck around. Sure enough, Optimus is walking toward us. He gives the twins a nod as he approaches, his eyes locking on me. He's a good leader, I realize again; Mudflap and Skids _adore_ him, would do anything for him. I smile at him when he stops in front of us.

"Can I borrow you?"

"Of course," I say, giving Mudflap's head another quick hug before I stand carefully on his shoulder. Skids gasps and reaches a hand forward, pressing it against my back, making sure I'm completely stable as Optimus reaches out, allowing me to climb into his hand. I shoot the twins a glance and they look visibly relieved.

"Good night, guys," I tell them.

"'Night, Roadkill," they say. Skids reaches out and pokes my ribs as he passes before they transform simultaneously, racing each other back into the hangar. I roll my eyes and glance at Optimus.

"What's up?" I ask him, and he glances toward the sky. I snort. "You know what I mean," I laugh, and he chuckles.

"Yes," he says, "I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Sure," I say, "but, first, I wanted to ask _you_ something."

"Go ahead."

"Is there a particular _reason_ Mudflap and Skids are treating me like I'll break if they look at me funny?"

"I suspect they're worried about you," he says reasonably. "We almost lost you, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah," I say, waving my hand, "but it's been almost three weeks. They shouldn't still be treating me like that, especially now that I'm _fine_." Optimus shrugs, but now _he_ looks shifty. I narrow my eyes again with a gasp. "It was _you!_"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he splutters.

"Liar! You said something to them, didn't you?" He sighs. Guilty. Then _I_ sigh. "Oh, man, what did you tell them?"

"Nothing of import—"

"_Optimus._"

"I may have expressed a certain level of—disapproval—toward them, should harm befall you at their hands—"

At this I laugh. "A certain level of disapproval, huh? I need to hear this. What did you say?" He looks uncomfortable. "Please tell me?"

He sighs, shooting me an annoyed look. "I told them that I would—_disassemble_ them—if they harmed you, even unintentionally—and I asked Bumblebee to make sure they were gentle—"

"Oh, God," I laugh, "you didn't!" He gives me a serious look. "You _did._" I grin; that explains everything, their cautiousness and the way Bumblebee was always around. "Thanks," I tell him, rubbing his thumb, "but I'm not _that_ delicate, and I don't want them afraid for their lives! I just want everything to go back to normal—"

"That's actually what I wanted to speak to you about," he says.

"Really?"

"Yes," he says. "I don't necessarily _approve_ of this idea, but after seeing what happened to you, I think it's for the best." He hesitates. "In two days, the Autobots and I will spend a majority of our time training and brushing up on battle strategy; another Autobot has neared Earth, and we must be ready to get to him and defend him when he lands." A new Autobot? I wonder who this one will be, and I smile.

"That's great," I say warmly.

"It is," he says with a nod, his own voice warm before he gets back to business. "But as it is, everyone, myself included, thinks it would be wise if you joined us for training; just to see what you know."

"Really?" I gasp, both excited and terrified. He nods.

"The last time we left there was an attack," he says. "I don't want to leave again—not without knowing that you _can_ defend yourself, especially considering your last incident with Barricade."

"Freak accident," I mumble, crossing my arms petulantly. "But, okay. I'll do it."

He nods, then brushes my beanie with a finger. "Why do you wear that?"

"Because _Ratchet_ thought shaving my hair was a good idea," I tell him crossly, spitting the medic's name. Optimus looks confused.

"I do not understand. It's only hair; will it not grow back?"

"Well, yeah, _eventually_," I tell him. "But it'll take a while, and in the meantime I'll look like a freak, so I'm hiding it." At this he lets out a low, deep chuckle, obviously amused. "It's not _funny_, Optimus."

"It is," he says, his voice tinged with a certain fondness. His eyes are warm when he looks down at me, drawing me closer to his face.

"Why on earth is that _funny_?" I demand, irritated that he's actually _laughing_. Men, I realize, of _any_ race just can't seem to understand the relationship between a girl and her hair. He's still chuckling softly.

"I apologize," he says, sobering up slightly. "But the fact that you think something as insignificant as missing _hair_ will affect your attractiveness is amusing."

I glare at him. "It _does_," I say. "I mean _yeah_, I'm hot enough to rock a shaved head, but that doesn't mean I _want_ to."

He laughs again. "Parker," he tells, "you are beautiful—regardless of your hair or lack thereof."

I feel myself blush, my irritation slipping away. I'd forgotten just how oblivious he is, sometimes, to human beauty standards. And, okay, I _guess_ the fact that he'd called me beautiful has something to do with my blushing, too. I bite my lower lip and look down, trying to control my blush. I clear my throat.

"Well, what do you know, anyway? You're an _alien_. You know nothing about human attractiveness," I tease.

"I don't need to know human standards to know that _you_ are beautiful."

Change the subject, change the subject…

"Um," I say, face flaming. "Thanks."

"I'm only saying what I know to be true."

Oh, _God_, I'm going to _die_. I decide then to shift the focus off of me. A sudden thought strikes me, and I grin. "Hey, Optimus?"

"Hmm?"

"What's the Autobot beauty standard?" I ask curiously. "No, no, wait. Okay. Surely on Cybertron you all had ladyfriends, right?"

"We had—admirers, yes."

"Right," I say, nodding eagerly. "Okay. So. The Cybertronian beauty standard. What makes a robot sexy?"

He laughs a deep laugh, and I grin as I stare up at him. "Not so different from humans, I think," he says. "A male Cybertronian's physical attractiveness is based on his height, his structure, his strength…"

"Right," I say slowly as another idea strikes me. A huge smile parts my lips. "Okay, so on a scale of one to ten—one being _ugly_ and ten being _sexy_—how did all of you rank?"

He looks slightly flustered. "What?"

"You know, how hot were you guys?" My voice is teasing, but I'm genuinely curious. "Come on, you have to know, since you all had _admirers_."

Optimus sighs. "You are so curious."

"This is fascinating," I tell him. "Learning about other cultures… I love it."

"Must I do this?"

"You must," I tell him. I pull my knees under me, sitting a little taller. "This is exciting. Come on."

"Ugh," he groans, making an incredibly human noise.

"Let's start with… Ratchet. Yeah. Ratchet."

"Ratchet," he says thoughtfully, thinking, and I wait patiently. He looks at me again. "_Must I?"_ But he's playful, now. I nod. "Fine. Ratchet—Ratchet would rank at about a seven on your scale."

"Why?"

"He is tall, strong, intelligent—and a doctor first and foremost, rather than a warrior. Warriors are more attractive."

"Hm. Okay, next: Sideswipe."

"Nine," Optimus says confidently. "He and Ironhide had the most admirers."

"Why?"

"Sideswipe is tall, and a warrior—and he is _fast_ and agile."

"Oh," I say, then grin. "Okay, what about Ironhide, then?"

Optimus groans, rubbing his forehead, which makes me laugh. I bounce a little in his hand. "Come on! Ironhide. What is he?"

"Ironhide is… a ten," Optimus says grudgingly, and I snort.

"Why?"

"Because he is strong, well-built, and an incredibly talented warrior, a weapons specialist. And scars are considered attractive."

"Oh my God," I laugh. "Ironhide is sexy?" I can't stop laughing, which makes Optimus chuckle as well.

"You are not to repeat this conversation."

"Never," I laugh. Optimus groans again, and I'm reminded, again, of the fact that he and Ironhide are the best of friends. The idea that he'd just so easily said that his best friend was a 10 makes me laugh.

"And what about you?" I ask, after I'd forced him to finish scoring the others (Bumblebee had been an 8, the twins had each been a 6, and Wheeljack had been a 5).

"What about me?"

"Come on," I tell him, raising an eyebrow. "Surely the lady-bots were drooling after you; you're _Optimus Prime_." He just shakes his head at me, and no matter how hard I try, he won't score himself; he's too humble, too modest for that. "Alright, then," I tell him. "_I'll_ score you." I'm really enjoying teasing him, mostly because I want to see his reaction to what I say next. "Hmm… I'd say you're a solid ten, OP."

He looks startled at the nickname, but more startled at my having declared him a ten. "Don't be ridiculous," he splutters.

I grin. "You're too modest," I tell him. "Oh, and just for the record; remember when I said Megatron was the more attractive brother, that he got the looks?" He gives me a solemn nod, avoiding my gaze. I smile at him. "Well, I _lied_, you know."

He squirms slightly, looking uncomfortable, and I'm _loving_ it. Revenge is sweet. I stifle my laughter as he clears his throat awkwardly, still avoiding my eyes. I pat his face and he gives me a mildly exasperated look, shaking his head at me.

He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can say anything else, an explosion rocks the hangar, the sound making me flinch. Optimus immediately covers me with both hands, alert, eyes zeroed in on the hangar, which is billowing black smoke. I gasp, peeking through a gap in his fingers, and I'm able to see Bumblebee, Sideswipe, Mudflap and Skids, and Ironhide come speeding out of the hangar, transforming once they hit the cool outside air. Bumblebee is the most obviously irritated, wiping black soot off of his armor. They're all _filthy_, I realize, and _I'm_ going to have to wash them!

"What happened?" Optimus barks, setting off toward them at a jog.

"Wheeljack happened," Ironhide growls.

Wheeljack emerges from the smoke, smeared with black, coughing and hacking.

"Sorry, sorry!" he says in his lilting accent. "Minor—malfunction! Easily reparable."

Optimus and Ironhide groan as Wheeljack looks flustered. His "hair" is streaked and standing out at awkward angles. Optimus, still holding me protectively against him, gives Wheeljack a serious look.

"What did you do this time, Wheeljack?"

"I—ah—just something I was working on. But I know the problem! Easily fixed—"

"Wheeljack," Optimus says, "there are _humans_ around. You must be more careful."

A few said humans come stumbling out of the hangar, coughing and either laughing or shooting dirty looks. One of them—one of the ones laughing—is my brother.

"Hi!" I call down from Optimus's hand. He looks confused on the ground, glancing around before finally looking up. I wave down at him.

"What are you doing up?" He asks.

"I'm nocturnal now," I tell him. "I wash the cars at night."

"You _wash_ them?" He gives Optimus a strange look and seems very uncomfortable with the idea. I ignore him.

"Here," Optimus says. "Let me take care of this. You should return to your room and get some rest."

"Yes, sir," I tell him. "But lift me up first." He knows why. He lifts me carefully up so that I'm level with his face, and I brush my palm and fingers gently against the space between his eyes as he does the same to me with his other hand. It's slightly clumsy, considering the size difference, but we manage.

Ironhide gives us a strange look and snickers.

"Good night," I tell him.

"Good night," he replies, settling me on the ground. I lool up in time to see him shoot Ironhide a look; Ironhide shoves him good-naturedly, and I kick Ironhide lightly in the shin. He glances down at me.

"Good night, _sexy_," I purr, licking my lips at him. He looks astounded and completely confused. Optimus practically face-palms, closing his eyes and shaking his head with a groan. I snigger and my brother wraps an arm around my shoulders.

"Why are you always _with_ him?" Savannah demands, leading me into the hangar after the smoke has cleared somewhat.

"Who?"

"Optimus."

"I dunno," I shrug. "He's good company. I like him."

"You like him, or you _like_ him?"

"_What?"_

"Nothing. Nevermind," he snaps, looking annoyed. He has that big-brother, overprotective look about him, even though _I'm_ technically the older sibling. By a few minutes only, but still. It counts. "What's that forehead thing about?"

"It's like a Cybertronian hug," I tell him, smiling. "It means the same thing—affection. Just without the actual hugging."

"I don't like it," Savannah growls. "He needs to keep his hands off of you."

"Dude," I tell him.

"I'm just saying. Look at you—you're all smiley and—and—"

"Oh, shut up," I laugh, slinging my arm around his neck, forcing him to bend over as I pounce on his back. "Relax, will you? Sheesh."

"I don't like the way he looks at you," he grunts, wrestling free of my grip.

"You're seeing things," I tell him, but part of me secretly hopes he's _not_ just seeing things. Which is insane, but there it is anyway.

"Parker," Savannah says very seriously, gripping my face between his hands. "He's a good guy. Really. He is. And I like him. I just don't like him with _you_, got it? I can't stand him with you. He—he—"

"Savannah…"

"No, listen," he says, "look, I don't really want to have that _keep your hands off my sister_ conversation with an alien robot rebel force leader, but I _will_, if I have to. Got it? Please don't put me through that."

"You know," I tease, "I need to have that conversation with _Ronnie Addams_."

"No, you do not," he says, leaning against my doorframe; we've reached my new room. "And why do you say her name like that?"

"Like what?"

"_Ronnie Addams._"

"That's her name, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but when you say it, you get the stink-eye."

"Do not."

"Do too. Now, don't change the subject. Just—quit hanging around Optimus so much, okay? I don't like it."

"Vannah," I tell him, gripping _his_ face in _my_ hands this time, "I appreciate it. Really, I do. But... lay off, okay? I'm a big girl. If I want to hang around him, I can. I've got pretty good judgment."

"Clearly," he snorts sarcastically. "Because _Megatron_ was such a fantastic idea."

"You're a bitch," I tell him, glaring as I open my door furiously. He wedges his foot in the crack so I can't close it.

"P—"

"No, really, you're being a dick. You had to bring that up?"

"Don't call me a dick."

"What do you prefer? Asshole, bitch, jerk—I've got a few names I could use for you."

His hand shoots out and grabs my wrist, yanking me against him. I screech and try to wriggle away, but he laughs in my ear, snagging my beanie off of my head, making me scream again.

"Sorry," he mumbles into my hair. "That was mean. I shouldn't have said that."

"Damn straight," I grunt, reaching for my beanie. "Give it _back_."

"No," he says.

"Savannah—"

He dances away from me playfully, and I _hate_ him for it.

"And you called _me_ a baldy-bean," he taunts, dangling the beanie high above my head—and I'm tall, so that's saying something. I gasp furiously at the low blow, and decide to dish out one of my own.

"Say what you want," I smirk, folding my arms over my chest. "But _Optimus_ says I'm _beautiful_ even with my missing patch of hair." Savannah stiffens, and I take the opportunity to jump up and steal the beanie out of his grasp. "Ha!" I cry triumphantly with a laugh, shoving him out of the way and spiraling into my room, slamming my door in his astonished face.


	25. Chapter 25

**NOTE: I would like to thank **_**UlurNaga**_** for helping me through my terrible case of writer's block. She suggested the Barricade flashbacks. Thanks so much, girl!**

**So sorry for the long wait. Seriously. I was facing an incredible, horrible case of writer's block. :( But here's the next chapter, and I sincerely hope you enjoy it! Excuse any typos, because I'm exhausted. I can't wait to hear how you like this one!  
><strong>

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><p><span>Chapter 25<span>

The ground beneath me trembles almost as badly as my body is trembling. I press more firmly into my hiding spot, biting my lip to keep from screaming or wailing, my hand covering my nose and mouth to stifle the sound of my ragged, panicked breathing. The ground shakes again, over and over, with every step he takes. Close, close, closer.

"Come out, fleshling."

I'm hiding beneath the bodies of two broken cars, folded against each other, providing me with a small, nearly invisible nook. I watch him through a gap in the twisted metal; he's enjoying this _too much_, I realize. I take a moment to remind myself of where I am, digging my short, stumpy nails into my palms. He's only a few feet away from me, oblivious to my presence; he must know I'm here, though. Surely he can sense me. He must be toying with me.

He turns in a slow circle, chuckling lowly. "I can smell you," he rumbles, and his foot lands inches from my shelter. I flatten myself against the far car, determined not to be spotted. No. I will _not_ lose, not again. I look down at the ground, careful not to crunch any broken glass. I poke my head up out of my shelter when he's not looking, just able to spot my safe spot, marked by two glowing flares. So close, but _so far_.

He's too close now. I can't run for it; if I do, he'll catch me.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," he sings softly, his voice warped, dark. I swallow and release my lip from between my teeth, panting softly as sweat snakes down my spine. I could reach out and touch him right now, but I don't. I edge back, my fingers splayed against the twisted car, feeling the grooves in the metal, finding the back lights, the bumper as I crawl around it, putting distance between us, however small.

I crouch, my thighs burning and twitching, pent up energy coiled within my muscles. He makes a show of sniffing the air before turning to face my direction. His eyes land on my cars, and I have to force myself not to scream as he grabs the one I had just been hiding beneath and flings it away in an almost triumphant gesture; the car hits the ground a few yards away, grating, sending up sparks. I clamp my hand over my mouth. He makes a confused sound.

A silver Corvette suddenly shrieks around the corner, tires sending up smoke as he floors it in my direction. My heart stops.

"Ironhide!" Sideswipe barks, tipping him off to my presence.

"Shit!" I shriek, diving out of the way as Ironhide lifts the second car, tossing it away, laughing. I scramble to my feet and take off running and Ironhide gives chase. Sideswipe zips in front of me, hitting the brakes, not even giving me time to slow myself. I slam into his door and bounce off, my shoulder taking the brunt of the fall. I get to my feet and run desperately for Ironhide, using my small size to my advantage as I slip between his legs as he reaches for me.

The game is simple: If I reach the flares, I live and I win. If someone catches me, I die and I lose.

We've been split into groups just to make it a little fairer. Mudflap, Skids, and Bumblebee are on my side, playing the role of Autobots. Ironhide, Sideswipe, Ratchet, and Optimus are all against us, playing Decepticons. Wheeljack is sitting out, helping keep score with Lennox and the other soldiers who had gathered to watch.

The odds are severely against us. Lennox had said that it didn't matter if we lost, that what mattered were my abilities. The score so far? Decepticons-4: Autobots and Parker-0. At least everyone was getting some good training out of this, battling and fighting each other. All I had to do was make it to the flares, which was proving much harder than I had expected.

I'd been cocky. Now I'm feeling embarrassed.

"No, no, no, no," I scream as I run and they give chase. They're obviously showing off, every single goddamned one of them, transforming needlessly, gracefully, soaring through the air, rolling around in front of me, firing at each other. "Where the _hell _is my team?" I scream to no one in particular. I haven't seen any of my Autobots yet this round, and I'm feeling more than a little abandoned.

The tarmac outside has been set up to look like a city in the midst of battle. Cars from junkyards are twisted together or parked, to be used as shelter, obstacles, weapons, whatever.

"Sideswipe killed Mudflap," Lennox calls in response to my question. "Bumblebee is incapacitated thanks to Optimus, and Skids is fighting with Ratchet."

"Goddammit," I scream as I dive beneath a lifted truck, crawling on my elbows and knees. Sure enough, if I listen, I can hear Skids and Ratchet going at it. Glass shatters around me as Ironhide lifts the truck, tossing it behind him as though it weighs no more than a toy car. Sideswipe looms behind him as I roll to my feet, running _at_ them again. They can't shoot me if I'm too close to them. They both reach for me at once, nearly colliding with each other, their hands tangling as I leap between their fingers.

"You idiot," Ironhide snarls, shoving Sideswipe.

"Communicate, guys," Lennox hollers. "You have to communicate!"

A path of cars has been cleared by the faux battle, creating a straightaway; the only thing in my path is Mudflap's dramatically crumpled body. I sprint for him, stumbling over his body, snarling "drama queen" at his death-pose; mouth wide open, eyes crooked, body splayed. I keep running toward the flares at the end of the straightaway; off to my left I see Bumblebee, just hanging out, leaning against some cars, clearly out of the game; to my right, Skids is battling Ratchet.

Optimus comes out of nowhere in his massive Peterbilt form, shrieking from behind a huge, destroyed bus, driving straight for me. I don't let up, I keep running. We're close, close, closer—

"Roadkill, get out da way!"

I don't have time to react. Skids hits me from the side, slamming on the brakes; my body rolls over his hood into his windshield, cracking the glass, knocking the wind out of me. He comes to a sharp halt, tossing me to the ground where I land, covering my head.

"Goddammit!" I snarl at him, getting to my feet. "What the _fuck?_" I'm way too competitive to lose this way. I kick him and he transforms. "You just ran over your own teammate!"

The game has clearly come to a pause.

"Roadkill, I didn't mean ta—"

"You killed me! You just killed me!"

"You ain't dead—"

"If this was real life I would be!" I pause for a breath, panting. "_I can't believe you ran me over!_"

"You came outta nowhere—"

"How the hell did I come out of nowhere?" I demand. "I was right here the whole damn time! _I was right here!_ Ironhide, _shut up!_"

Ironhide is behind me laughing his ass off. Everyone has gathered around us, and most look amused, if a little worried.

"So much for Decepticon training, huh?" Ironhide laughs, and Sideswipe snickers. I feel my face heat, embarrassment burning through my body.

"What's the score now?" Ratchet sniggers. "Five to zero?"

My team all looks annoyed and dejected, Skids especially. I know I should feel bad for yelling at him, but I'm too angry right now. I am _not_ good at losing, especially not five times in a row, and _especially_ not at the hands of my own teammate.

"Again," I snap, "let's go again."

Optimus sighs. "Perhaps you should rest," he tells me, and I turn on him.

"No," I snarl, "I don't need to _rest_. I need to work _alone_. I can't work with a team! They run me over!" I shoot Skids a withering glare, and he stares at the ground. I fold my arms as Optimus looks thoughtful.

"Come on, Prime," Ironhide says, sounding cocky. "Another round. This one won't last long, and we could use the practice."

"Fine," Optimus says. "Bumblebee, Mudflap, Skids; sit this one out."

Bumblebee makes a sad whirring noise, and Mudflap and Skids look put out as they walk away, going to sit by the makeshift stands where a few soldiers are gathered, watching.

"Be careful," Optimus warns me. My brother whoops from his seat.

"Yeah! Go Parker! Whoo!"

I roll my eyes and hop up and down on the balls of my feet. The Autobots—or Decepticons, as they're pretending to be—spread out, vanishing among the cars, leaving me alone. I walk back to my starting position on the other end of the arena, stretching, determined. Barricade had never trained me to work well with others. _Every man for himself_, he had always told me, _watch your own back. Play dirty. Survive._

"Play dirty," I murmur to myself, "survive." I take a few deep breaths. "Don't go easy on me," I warn the robots. "Be serious."

A few affirmatives ring through the air as I wait for Lennox to blow the air horn, signaling the start of this new round. I'm sure the robots are planning, and I know I should be, but I'm not the best planner. Barricade always said that there was no time to think. Instinct was my only choice, and I wasn't going to change my ways now.

"Ready," Lennox yells. _"Go!_"

The horn blows and my muscles twitch as my body launches into motion, sending me darting forward. It takes me a moment to realize that nothing is happening—_nothing_. There is no sound, no transformations, _silence_. This gets me more than anything else, the lack of activity. They could be anywhere, lurking, watching me. I slow to a walk, which is stupid, because I should take advantage of this moment and run. My skin prickles. I _know_ they're watching me, but I can't see them. I'm too short; I can only see the cars closest to me.

I've never been good at hide and seek, never dealt well with the anticipation. The knowledge that I'm being watched, right now, is making my skin crawl, making me want to burst _out of_ my skin, to scream, to do something. I can't handle the suspense. When Savannah and I had played hide and seek as kids, I'd always blown my cover running too soon, unable to stand sitting and waiting, not knowing when he would come for me.

Barricade had beaten some of that out of me, but old habits die hard. I only take another moment to survey the area before I draw on the things Barricade had taught me.

_Avoid the open._

I dart to a cluster of cars, edging around them.

_Take in your surroundings._

I glance around, searching for cover. I dart from one car to another, keeping a lookout for them, listening for the sound of tires rolling over gravel, of crunching glass. When I've reached a span of little cover, I just make a break for it, sprinting hard and fast.

With a roar, Sideswipe swoops in out of nowhere, the Corvette gunning for me. He's coming for me hard and fast, and my first instinct is to do the move I'd used on Barricade in the battle. At the last second I jump up, the action made easier by Sideswipe's low frame, my foot connecting with his hood. His horn blares.

* * *

><p>"<em>No!" Barricade's harsh voice is a snarl. I'm curled up on the cement behind him, grasping my knee, gritting my teeth against the pain. "That's all <em>_**wrong!**__ Do it again!"_

_I stagger to my feet, limping. Barricade backs up, putting some distance between us. It's my fourth month training with him, and he's an incredibly difficult teacher, almost cruel. I stand and face him._

"_Rush me!" he orders, and I sprint forward as he burns out, charging me. At the last second, though, I veer to the right, throwing myself to the ground and rolling. Barricade roars._

"_I'm sorry," I cry. "I can't do this!"_

"_You __**will**__ do this!"_

"_Barricade—"_

"_We will be here all night," he says, "I do not need the rest. We are not stopping."_

"_But Barricade—"_

_He hits me with the car, threatening to crush me. "Get up."_

_He backs up away from me and we try it again. Barricade, I know, won't stop. You don't play chicken with Barricade, because he will hit you, and he will kill you, and he won't care. I jump at the last second, but, just like the last few times, my legs give out from his momentum and I crumple, doing something akin to a belly flop, sprawling on his windshield and hood. He slams on the brakes, throwing me back._

"_Wrong!"_

"_This is impossible!" My voice comes out as a wheeze as I cradle my throbbing knees. _

"_Again!"_

_I bite my lip against the building sob. I can't do this. I can't do this. He's insane! This time, I don't jump; I'm too tired. __**I can't do this.**__ He slams into me, knocking me back._

"_Again!"_

_We try again, and I still don't jump. I'm thrown to the ground again._

"_Again!"_

_He gets the same results._

"_We can do this all night. Again!"_

_Again, I am knocked to the ground. This time he transforms above me, grasping my bruised body in his huge hand, forcing me to stand as I cry softly. When was the last time I'd had sleep? Training sessions with Barricade are brutal. He makes me go until my body gives out and, so far, my body is still going._

"_You will stand," he says, "and you will do this again. We are not stopping until you get it right."_

"_This is impossible."_

"_You will try again. When the time comes, you want to be able to defend yourself against the Decepticons, right?"_

_I nod._

"_This is how you get to that point. You are weak. You are useless, nothing more than Megatron's disgusting little pet. You cannot handle yourself in battle. At this rate, you will get killed within seconds. Pathetic." He snorts. "Did you not love your family?"_

"_Leave them out of this."_

"_It is vengeance you seek, is it not? This is how you get your vengeance. Now __**try again!**__"_

_He shoves me harshly to the ground and I pick myself up. He leaves me standing there, fuming, and we face off again, like two cowboys in an old movie. We charge._

* * *

><p>My feet connect with Sideswipe's low roof, one of them catching, and I go down, hitting the pavement hard, landing on my knees and my stomach. I grunt, forcing myself to my feet, sprinting. I hear Sideswipe's tires screech behind me; the back of my neck prickles as he approaches. I reach for my belt and grab the weapon Wheeljack had created for me—a simple explosive, one that just goes up in smoke rather than actually exploding and causing damage.<p>

I spin around with a shriek and hurl it at his shoulders, pulling the tab like a grenade. I hear it hit him with a metallic _clink_, exploding into smoke near his face. He coughs as the smoke blinds him and I use this to my advantage, running for the flares again. Sideswipe makes a furious noise, spluttering.

Ratchet attacks me next, boxing me in with Optimus and Ironhide. I stay between Ratchet's legs, almost wanting to laugh triumphantly. They can't attack me, not with Ratchet in the way.

"Ratchet, _move_," Ironhide orders. He pretends to try and step on me to end the game, but I grab on to the metal on his legs, holding on for dear life. He tries to shake me off, and someone is laughing. Finally he dislodges me, sending me rolling over the pavement away from the others before I take off again, screaming as Optimus gives chase.

"Here, fleshy, fleshy, fleshy," Ironhide calls with an evil laugh. I keep screaming, my blood rushing in my ears. I hate, hate, _hate_ being chased. Ironhide lifts a car and hurls it in my direction; it lands in front of me and I skid to a halt.

* * *

><p><em>I nearly slam into the car as it lands in front of me, glass exploding. Barricade is hard on my heels, chasing me through the abandoned town—somewhere in Canada, I think. No one lives here anymore, and he's taking advantage of that fact. I scale the car, panting, my hands and knees bleeding. As I reach the top, Barricade sends me flying with a flick of his wrist.<em>

"_Look around you," he orders, "take advantage of your surroundings!" _

_I slam into a brick building and slide down, landing on my knees. I look around._

"_Too late," he snarls, "you've taken too long. You're dead. Don't think—just act."_

_I get up and rush him, sprinting between his legs. He reaches for me but misses; due to my smaller size, I'm more agile. I shove my elbow through the window of an old car and unlock it, trying to hotwire it._

"_What are you doing? You don't have that kind of time!" His hand comes down, crushing the car with me inside of it. He hits it with a small blast of something, and it catches fire. "Now what?" He lifts the car and tosses it with me still inside—hard enough to hurt, but not to kill. I wriggle out when it lands, my body sore, bruised from our other training sessions. I break into an old brick building, busting the window, looking for a place to hide._

"_Better," he says, "but not good enough."_

_The building crumples around me and he drags me back outside by my ankles. He tosses me into a car. Thank God I've been training with him for so long; in the beginning, I wouldn't have been able to handle this._

"_Ugh," he retches, "you've gotten blood on my hand." I snicker. "Look around you," he says again, looming over me. I back into the car. "What can you use as a weapon?"_

_There's nothing around me. Concrete chunks won't hurt him. Neither will glass, or—_

_That's it. __**The cars.**_

* * *

><p>I scramble over the car Ironhide tossed in my way, heart pounding, elated. I know how to win this round, and without having to worry about my teammates, it's suddenly clear to me. I rush to a stack of "wrecked" cars, the Autobots a few yards behind me. I don't have much time. I open the gas tank on one and press my nose to it, inhaling—empty.<p>

"Shit," I moan desperately, rushing for the next car. When I inhale, the scent of gasoline burns my nostrils. I'm ecstatic. I reach for my belt, grabbing my last little explosive. It explodes into smoke, sure, but it _does_ throw off a few sparks, and one spark is all I need. One spark to start a blaze.

They're closer now, right on me. I pull the tab, the tiny smoke-grenade suddenly urgent in my hands. I have thirty seconds _tops_. With an urgent scream I shove it into the gas tank and sprint away. The Autobots are too big, they can't stop in time.

Run, run, run, run, _run, RUN!_

"_Move!_" Optimus's voice is a bellow. I sprint for the flares. How much time is left? Am I far enough away—

_**BOOM!**_

The sound rocks through my body, sending me to my knees as the shockwave hits. It's not a _huge_ explosion, at least—

_**BOOM! BOOM!**_

The other cars go off after the first, their gas tanks having ignited. I roll over so that I'm sitting, my hands braced behind me. The car pile has become a huge fireball; the Autobots are close to it, but not close enough to be hurt. They all look stunned; they shield their faces against the blaze. Ratchet swears; his arm is on fire, and I can't help but smirk. A little fire won't hurt him. Serves him right for shaving my hair! He puts it out quickly.

"Ha!" I cry, "I win! In your—" My words are cut off as I scream; someone is lifting me into the air.

"You were saying?"

"Shit." Ironhide has me.

"Dead."

"Ugh."

"Autobots-six. Parker-zero."

I fold my arms crossly, but I feel better about losing this time. At least I'd done it myself and hadn't been run over by my own teammate.

"Well played," Sideswipe commends, coming up to us with Optimus and Ratchet. The soldiers are cheering. "Stupid and risky, but well played."

"Thanks."

"Either way," Ironhide says gruffly. "You still died."

I roll my eyes and glance up at Optimus. He meets my eyes and he looks _proud_. In that moment, I don't care that I _technically_ lost. Right now, I feel as though I've won.

"So," I urge Optimus, hoping for a compliment. "Whatcha think?"

He gives me a knowing smile. "I think we should take a break, for your sake."

"Yeah, sure," I say. "You're just tired, old man. We all know you're the one who needs the break."

Ironhide makes an annoyed scoffing noise as Optimus chuckles. Ironhide places me on the ground and they leave to put out the fire; I turn to the stands, jogging toward Lennox and Savannah, who hugs me.

"You _stink_," he tells me, wrinkling his nose.

"Gee, I wonder why."

He dumps some water on my beanie-clad head and, rather than getting angry, I tilt my head back, letting it run into my mouth and over my throat and chest, cooling me. I feel hot and sticky and jittery. But triumphant. They guide me back to the stands where I sit, stretching my cramped muscles and guzzling water.

"How are you feeling? How's your head?"

"Fine," I say, and Savannah's eyes are dark and worried. "They've been going easy on me, don't worry." He sighs, nudging my shoulder.

"You're kind of amazing," he tells me after a moment, nodding to my spluttering fireball; it's belching smoke.

"Thanks," I say, "I had a good teacher." Immediately, I realize I've said the wrong thing. His eyes darken and, beside me, Lennox stiffens. "Ah_—_I mean_—_"

"I know," he says after a moment. "Forget it. The point is, you're stupid, and that was dangerous, and I want to kill you, but I have to admit... that was a pretty bomb explosion." He snorts at his own pun. "Get it? _Bomb?_"

"Oh, God."

Ratchet insists that I take more time to rest, and instead suggests that he and the other Autobots go at it one-on-one. To make it more fair, Lennox writes down all their names, puts them in his hat, and draws them out in pairs. The first pair is Skids and Wheeljack, followed by Ironhide and Ratchet, then Bumblebee and Optimus, and finally Mudflap and Sideswipe. We all cheer as the first two take their places, squaring off. I fully expect my Skids to win, and I make a mental note to apologize to him later. I'd been a major bitch.

I cheer Skids on as he faces off with Wheeljack. It takes a few moments, but Skids finally gets the upper hand. Soon enough, he "kills" Wheeljack, and Ratchet and Ironhide take their places.

"Ohh," I say eagerly, "this one will be good." Optimus is crouched off to the side so as not to block anyone's view, and he gives me a look. I smile at him, and he makes a small motion with his head. My smile widens, and he twitches his finger slightly, a _come here_ motion. I smack my brother's knee, because it's in my way, and make my way over to Optimus. I can feel Savannah watching me, but I ignore him as Optimus scoops me up, placing me on his shoulder, where I lean against his face comfortably.

"You did well," he tells me as we watches the fight. It's vicious. Ironhide is brutal.

"Thanks," I tell him. "So did you."

"Thank you," he chuckles. "That trick with the cars. It was_—_"

"Stupid, I know," I grumble. "Savannah told me. But you have to admit, it was pretty cool."

"I was going to say that it was clever," he says, "but stupid works just as well."

I laugh. "Feel better about leaving me behind? I'm not so defenseless after all, huh?" I elbow his cheek gently.

"No," he says. "I don't feel much better. You died six times."

"Yeah, but_—_"

"No," he says again with a sigh. He turns to face me, his eyes affectionate. "I admit, I was relieved to see that you are capable. But I still don't want to leave you alone. Please don't blow up any cars while I'm gone. If something had gone wrong_—_"

I roll my eyes. "I've got this."

"I'm sure. But I'll still worry."

That's sweet. I smile at him. "Don't worry," I tell him. "Just_—_"

Ironhide slams Ratchet down only feet in front of us. Instantaneously, Optimus has his hand in front of me, shielding me. "_Watch it!_"

"Ironhide's amazing," I breathe after they've gone away, still fighting. The air hums, a shockwave rocking me as Ironhide blasts Ratchet with a cannon."Whoa."

"Ironhide is talented," Optimus says with a nod. Finally, Optimus "kills" Ratchet, who shoves him away in irritation. Optimus stands, placing me back on the makeshift bleachers. Bumblebee bounces to his feet, his radio crackling to life.

_"Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee,"_ his radio says. He's such a ham; he's totally eating up this moment. He jogs past the crows, knees bent, hand cupped to where his ear should be, motioning with his other fingers. We give him what he wants, cheering. He perks his head and then shakes it, doorwings drooping. Then he gives us a sharp look, motioning up with his arms, egging the crowd on, bouncing up and down, hand cupped to his ear. We cheer even louder, and he hops up and down, rocking us all slightly.

_"Let me hear you!" _His radio calls, stealing a line from a football movie.

"Bumblebee!" We all chant, breaking up the word so that it sounds like Bum-ble-bee. He cups his hand to his ear again and we're all chanting, yelling. He pretends to flex for us and we scream, everyone laughing, lighthearted.

"Go Bumblebee," I laugh as Savannah whistles for him. He bows, then draws his fists up into a boxing stance, playing _Eye of the Tiger_ loudly, hopping, his fists flying out in Optimus's direction playfully, but never hitting him.

_"You ready, old timer?" _A line that I'm sure is stolen from an old cowboy movie. He gives Optimus a playful, challenging look, and Optimus crouches slightly.

"Oooh," the crowd says in response to Bumblebee's taunt. He's talking shit. The crowd of us has started up a competition, cheering for opposite sides.

_"Bum-ble-bee!"_

_"Op-tim-us!"_

_"Bum-ble-bee!"_

_"Op-tim-us!"_

Optimus actually crooks his fingers at us, grinning to himself, egging us on slightly. I feel like I'm in high school again, watching a football match.

"Oh, get on with it," Ironhide bellows.

_"Round one,"_ Bumblebee's radio chirps, definitely from a boxing match, followed shortly by the sharp _ding ding!_ that signals the start of the round. And then they go at it.

Both of them are amazing; swift, talented, strong and graceful. Optimus has a height advantage, but Bumblebee uses his smaller size to dodge more easily. He even transforms, something that none of the others had done so far, in order to evade Optimus. They definitely don't go easy on each other, and though I've seen it before, they never cease to amaze me. They shoot at each other, and Optimus uses his blades, and they even go hand-to-hand. The sun has set by the time a winner has been decided_—_Optimus, obviously. He'd pinned Bumblebee to the ground, standing on his back with one foot, weapong directed at his head. The crowd stands, cheering; it was easily the best match so far.

Optimus steps off of Bumblebee and offers him his hand; Bumblebee takes it and Optimus thumps him on the back as Mudflap and Sideswipe take their places. My heart is pounding, adrenaline flowing; Lennox and Savannah's eyes are bright from watching the fights. It must be so amazing for them, I realize, fighting alongside the robots, watching them spar, knowing that all of that raw power is on _their side_. We watch the next fight, which is over quickly. Mudflap, though talented himself, is up against the wrong opponent. He's no match for Sideswipe's deadly grace, not without his brother, and these two specialize in cooperative attacks.

When it's all over with, I rush from the stands to my boys_—_ Mudflap and Skids. I beam up at them, hugging their legs in turn.

"You guys are amazing," I tell them, smiling. The good mood all the soldiers had had is contagious. "Great job!" Bumblebee gives me a look. "You, too," I tell him, somehow breathless.

The best comparison that I can think of, this feeling inside, is like the feeling you get at concerts. Have you ever gone to a concert and been surrounded by so many thousands of people, and just felt that _energy_? That knowledge that, at least in that one moment, you're all alive, you're all _connected_? And it's great, and you're all like one being, and when the singer comes out, when the band steps on stage, you just get that _rush_, and you know everyone else there is feeling it, and it takes your breath away, and it flows through you until you're standing there, breathless, lost in the crowd, chills raking up your spine, chest tight, throat working only enough for you to scream. And then the moment steals the breath from your lungs, and you're standing there, on the verge of tears, somehow connected to everyone else, knowing, feeling that there's something _else_ there, at least for that moment. For that one moment, you are really, truly _alive_.

For some reason, I have that feeling right now, surrounded by giddy, whooping soldiers. We'd only been watching robots battle, but the feeling had been there, bonding us all, relaxing us, because we were all _feeling_, and we weren't scared, we were _proud_, proud to be human, to be able to call thes beings our allies. Our _friends._ I know we'd all felt it, sitting there, cheering from them. And even though there were maybe a few hundred of us total, very few, we had all felt it.

That's why I'm breathless.

Skids reaches for me, and I wonder if he feels it too. Does Skids feel it? Does Optimus feel it? They'll be gone tomorrow, off to find the new Autobot. But for now, we're all here, all safe, all alive. I want to hold on to this.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you, Skids," I tell him, still riding that wave.

"I'm sorry I ran ya over."

"I love you. I didn't mean to yell."

"I love ya, too. I didn't mean to kill ya."

We stare into each other's eyes for a moment, and I know it's forgiven, and I know he's feeling it too. I smile and hug his face, and he hugs me back, and somehow I'm in Optimus's hands. I know that this isn't the time or place to say goodbye, but somehow it _is_. It's the perfect time, the perfect place, surrounded by people we love, giddy, all of us feeling that something _else_, something bigger than us in this moment, not thinking about tomorrow.

Optimus lifts me to his face. Does he feel it? He must. He _must_.

So even though we have more training to do, and even though I know I'll say goodbye to him again before he leaves, I can't stop myself from doing it now, because I'm afraid I won't get a moment more perfect than this one. I dig my fingers into the faint grooves of his metal, drawing myself flush against him, laughing, still breathless, my mind buzzing, heart soaring.

"You be careful tomorrow, Optimus Prime," I tell him, resting my cheek against his forehead. I know he understands why I'm doing this now. "You come back to me." I echo his last words to me from weeks ago.

And then I rub my palms gently to his forehead, a feather light brush, before I lean in and press my lips to the spot just between his eyes where my hands had just skimmed. Optimus goes completely rigid for a moment, making an odd noise, and I keep my lips on the bitter tasting metal for maybe three long seconds before I pull away, and he stares into my eyes, and for a moment it's just us, just staring, connected to each other and to everyone else. I hear laughter and whooping around me, the sounds of men being men, but it all seems very vague. Finally, Optimus speaks.

"I will," he says, his eyes turning my skin blue as he dusts a huge palm over my forehead, his eyes dark and gentle and something else I can't quite place. He sets me back on the ground where I'm jostled by rowdy soldiers, all of them chanting some military chant, egging Bumblebee on, the ham that he is, as he and Sideswipe race each other. My brother takes my hand; he'll be going with them, tomorrow. Roger nudges my hip with his, and it's still there, that connection between us all, each of us reveling in being alive with other humans. Sideswipe wins the race, skidding to a cocky halt in front of us, and we cheer for him.

But eventually, all highs fade, and we all come back to earth, where there are battles to be fought, wars to be won, Autobots to rescue. Training resumes as normal, and the matches get steadily more agressive before the robots finally stop, calling it a night; they all need to get as much rest as they can to prepare for tomorrow. So we say good night, and they head inside, and Lennox follows them to plan with Optimus, and I stay out udner the stars, glad that my training, it seems, is done for the day.

So I lean against my brother and we stare up at the stars, and he holds me, and I pretend like I'll have him forever, like he won't be leaving me tomorrow and placing himself in danger. For the night, I pretend that none of them are leaving me, and it makes it more bearable.


	26. Chapter 26

**NOTE: I got the idea for this chapter after I saw snow on TV, and I had to do it! Anyway, it does snow in DC, but idk if it snows like THIS. Just believe it for me, okay? Pretend there was a storm. Because, for these guys, it's mid-winter. If you remember, at the last base, it had been raining.**

**Anyways, this one was fun to write. Poor, poor Ironhide. This is a TOTAL FILLER, but I love it so much.  
><strong>

**Also, a shopping trip! I figured P needed some new clothes, and there's some sweetness with her and the twins. Aww.**

**http:/ www . bluecocktaildress . net/images/blue-cocktail-dress . jpg**

**Get rid of the spaces if you want to see the dress. :) **

**Enjoy!**

Chapter 26

It's started to snow.

I love snow.

I love snow _especially_ when in the company of giant, alien, robo-warriors who have never seen it before.

Optimus had left yesterday with Ratchet, Sideswipe, Lennox, my brother, Roger, and a few others. Last night it had snowed, to my pleasure, but only hours later the snow had melted—much to my disappointment. Apparently, though, it had started snowing again while I'd been sleeping, because _now_ the ground outside was _covered_ in the stuff. I'd nearly had an excited heart attack upon seeing it. I didn't even care that I had _no_ snow-clothes. I'd rushed outside.

So now I'm wandering in the snow that's covered the tarmac, trying to appreciate it before they scrape it away. Snow just makes everything look so _magical_, so surreal, so beautiful. I laugh as I flop down in it, making a snow angel, earning weird looks from the watching Autobots, all of whom are hanging back in the hangar, watching me curiously, talking about the snow.

"Come on," I urge Mudflap and Skids, motioning with my hand. The snow isn't very deep, and beneath it is a layer of ice; the snow from last night had melted and then frozen over. I run my fingers against the ice, shivering, my breath turning white in the air. Ironhide is standing behind Mudflap and Skids, Bumblebee to his right, Wheeljack next to him, poking curiously at the snow.

Ironhide shoves Mudflap out into the snow, and he yelps, his feet crunching through the cool, icy powder. It takes him a moment to realize that snow isn't so bad. He takes a confident step forward, but then his foot slips on the ice and he goes down with a cry, his hand shooting out and dragging Ironhide with him, who swears. I start laughing hysterically, and so do the other Autobots, all pointing at the scene.

Ironhide hits the ground hard and Mudflap skids for a few feet, kicking up snow. Grumbling, Ironhide tries to get to his feet but, because of the ice, his hands slip out from under him. He swears and tries again, but he can't find purchase on the slick surface. He looks like a baby animal trying to learn to walk, or like Bambi on ice.

It's easily the funnies thing I have ever, _ever_ seen in my life.

"Stop _laughing_," he snarls at me before glaring at the ground. "What is happening?"

"It's ice, big guy," I tell him, "you gotta be careful or you'll eat shit."

His eyes narrow as I continue laughing. Slowly, carefully, he stands, looking triumphant and cocky. That is, until Bumblebee steps out, slips, and careens into Ironhide's legs. Ironhide roars and they slide through the snow for a few feet before coming to a halt.

Okay, I spoke too soon. _This_ is the funniest thing I've ever seen. Ironhide shoves Bumblebee off of him, knocking Mudflap down.

"No, no, no," Ironhide howls as Skids joins the fun, also sliding, taking out Bumblebee, who's gotten to his feet; Bumblebee grabs Mudflap for support, and Mudflap stumbles into them, his feet scrabbling wildly, before they all collapse onto Ironhide. Wheeljack is laughing like I've never heard before, and I'm laughing so hard I have a stitch in my side and I can't breathe. Tears streak down my cheeks.

Ironhide shoulders them off of him, tossing them away into the snow. Bumblebee looks confused at the snow; Mudflap and Skids, I can tell, are already devising ways to annoy everyone else with it. Ironhide is already grumpy at having been left behind to defend the base; now, he's seething. His size, usually so effective in battle, is working against him now as he tries to stand. The smaller bots are already on their feet.

"Ironhide," I call, walking over to him, treading lightly. "You can't beat up ice."

"Watch me," he snarls, cracking the ice with his fist.

"Whoa, cool it!" I cry. "You just have to take it slow."

"I don't need _your_ help," he spits furiously. Bumblebee takes a few tentative steps closer, looking pleased with himself when he doesn't fall. He stands near Ironhide, watching almost smugly as his friend struggles.

"Whatever you say," I snicker, watching him. It takes a few more tries, but he finally slowly, carefully, makes it to his feet. He shoots me an _in-your-face_ look, and I roll my eyes. "Okay," I say, "now let's see you walk back inside."

The look slips from his face only slightly before he squares his shoulders, scoffing. Slowly, ever so carefully, he takes a step. And then another. One more, and he'll be inside—

He roars furiously as he slips, throwing out his arms. At least this time, though, he manages to land half-inside the hangar. He drags himself in, glaring as we all bust into hysterics. He punches Wheeljack, who is nearest to him, sending him sprawling in the snow.

A few other soldiers have gathered at the commotion, and they're all laughing, too. One deadly look from Ironhide silences them, however, and they wander out into the snow, off-duty.

"Aren't you cold?" One asks, and his nametag says Gomez.

"Not really," I lie, steeling my chattering teeth. A soldier behind him goes down with a swear, slipping on the ice. Ironhide bellows with laughter.

"Not so funny now, is it?" He asks.

"It's plenty funny," the soldier calls back, then mutters under his breath, "but not as funny as watching your big ass slide around."

I snort back a laugh as Ironhide narrows his eyes, obviously having heard the soldier—Jackson, his nametag reads. Another one, tag reading _Ozera_, bursts out laughing, catching my eye.

"How long do you think the snow will last?" I ask the soldiers. Jackson and Ozera had been here before us, stationed here originally.

"Not long," Jackson says with a shrug. Mudflap and Skids and Bumblebee are exploring the snow. "It'll probably be gone by tomorrow night, unless it snows some more."

"Aw." My heart sinks. I'd wanted to play in the snow with Savannah, just like we had when we'd been younger. But, for now, I have to settle for my robotic twins, Bumblebee, and the soldiers. _Sigh_.

I turn to the soldiers with a wicked smile, and I know we're all thinking the same thing. As one, we glance up at the slipping robots, who look like children. I've got seven soldiers on my side: Gomez, Ozera, Jackson, and four others; Slade, Carter, Duran, and Corona. They're all different age ranges, with Jackson probably the youngest, in his twenties, and Carter the oldest, in his forties, maybe. But they all have that wild, elated look in their eyes.

What is it about snow that turns grown men, soldiers, into children?

"Arm yourselves, men," Carter says lowly, packing snowballs. He catches my eye and grins cheekily. Our fingertips are bright red and frozen, but by the time we're done, we have a formidable stack.

"Aim for the yellow one," Ozera says; Bumblebee has his back to us.

"Can we get Ironhide, too?" I ask hopefully. They all look mildly frightened.

"Ah," Jackson says, "maybe not the best idea. I don't feel like becoming a smear on the pavement. Anyone else?"

"Nope."

"I'll do it," Ozera says, winking at me. "That stuffy old fart's gonna get what's comin' to him."

I beam and we arm ourselves with snowballs, the robots oblivious to our actions. We creep up on them slowly, casually; I clench my snowball in my hand. Bumblebee glances at us and we act innocent, just watching them, waiting for the signal.

"Ready," Carter says slowly. "Aim… _fire!_"

A few battle cries ring through the air and we hurl the snowballs at Bumblebee before fleeing. He's pelted in the face and chest, and one hits his eye. He makes a startled chirping noise and tries to run, but his feet don't take him anywhere; he's just running in place before he slips and falls. We whoop triumphantly as he rolls over, looking at us in confusion. I toss a snowball up and down in my hand, smirking as I tug my beanie over my ears.

Then he seems to realize it's a game. His eyes narrow and he sits up, gathering snow in his arms, and I realize our mistake. His snowball will be a _lot_ bigger than ours.

"Run!" I cry, and we take off. Ozera goes down in front of me and I trip over him, landing face-first in the snow. We get up quickly, running gingerly, and I chance a glance over my shoulder and scream, laughing. Bumblebee has a _gigantic_ snowball in his hands, packed loosely, but still. We don't have time to scatter as he hurls it at us, taking us all out, covering us in snow, knocking us all on our asses.

He laughs. Mudflap and Skids laugh, and then the war is on, humans against robots.

We all need this, I know. It's been tense with the others gone on their mission, and this is the _perfect_ way to release that tension. Wheeljack spends too much time trying to calculate his way out of this situation. Mudflap and Skids coordinate beautifully, flushing us out, kicking snow at us, pelting us with huge snowballs. Wheeljack retreats, and the robots use battle-strategies to "kill" us all.

Bumblebee rolls in front of us, kicking up snow, covering us in it so that we look like snowmen. I shake it off, laughing, and Bumblebee gets an idea. He points a finger at us before he transforms rapidly, tires screeching on the ice as he fishtails. He drives away and we all stare after him for a moment before he spins around, slipping on the ice, and charges us. At the last second he turns sharply, kicking up a ridiculous amount of snow.

"Gah!" I cry as Ozera and Jackson laugh, spitting out snow. "Cheater!" Bumblebee hums and laughs.

"Incoming!"

Jackson, Ozera and I are all knocked to the ground as Mudflap hits us with a huge snowball.

"Time out!" I cry, getting to my feet. "No fair! We need a robot on our side!"

Skids volunteers, and the fight is a little more even. Before long, we're all soaked through and shivering, panting, freezing our asses off.

"Okay, okay, game over," Carter says. "En-n-nough's enough."

"W-w-wait," Ozera hisses, grabbing my arm, and nods at Ironhide, who is sitting inside the hangar in Topkick form. I motion for Skids and Mudflap, calling a meeting, and Bumblebee joins in eagerly. Ironhide notices us all glancing at him.

"What are you doing," he demands as Bumblebee, Mudflap, and Skids roll together a large snowball. "Primus help me—you stay away from me."

Bumblebee holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender, winking at us. He walks innocently into the hangar and Ironhide transforms suspiciously, looking Bumblebee up and down. He holds out his arms again, shaking his head, and Ironhide finally decides that he isn't a threat. The other soldiers, having guessed at what is about to happen, retreat into the safety of the hangar, looking at us like we're suicidal. Mudflap gives Bumblebee the signal, and Ironhide sees it, but he's too late.

Bumblebee tackles him, shoving him outside. Mudflap and Skids hurl the snowball at him and it catches him in the face and chest, throwing him off balance. His mass does the rest of the work for us; he collapses in the snow.

For a moment there is dead silence. Bumblebee looks nervously down at his friend and Mudflap and Skids shift their weight, ready to run. And then I snort and Ozera starts laughing as Ironhide lifts his head, shaking snow out of his joints. He gives Bumblebee a livid look.

"Optimus will hear about this," he says, and Bumblebee's doorwings droop. He hangs his head. Ironhide gets slowly to his feet and glares at us. We've all stopped laughing. We hadn't wanted Bumblebee to get into _trouble!_

But then he shocks us all when he shoves Bumblebee _hard_, sending him careening into the snow. "Oops," he says, then forms a snowball and hits him with it. "My bad."

And then he looks at us.

"Aw, shit," Ozera says. We back up slowly as he gathers another snowball, this one massive. Ironhide was _definitely_ the wrong bot to mess with. What had we been thinking? He is a weapons specialist, their best warrior. We are going to _die_.

He hurls a few snowballs, each one flying true. Mudflap and Skids get big ones in the face and they hit the ground. Two smallish ones (still _huge, though_) hit me and Ozera, pinning us under snow.

"Ha," Ironhide scoffs, walking over to us and managing not to slip. Shivering, we fight our way out of the snow, and just as we do, Ironhide stoops down and slowly buries us in some more. Then he pats the snow over our bodies, compacting us in it so that we can't move.

"R-Ratchet's gonna be p-p-pissed," Ozera tells him. "We could get s-sick!"

"Ratchet isn't here, is he?" he looks at us crossly, gesturing to the joints in his arm. "If these _freeze_, I will destroy each of you."

"D-d-drama queen," I drawl. "You'll thaw out. You're made of m-metal. Us, on the other h-hand… we're d-delicate humans."

"Yeah," Ozera chimes in, "we could get sick and d-die, or get frost bite, or—"

"Perhaps you should have thought of that _before_ you attacked me."

"Wait!" I cry. "Don't l-l-leave us here!"

He leaves us here. Ozera and I wiggle around in our snow tombs as Bumblebee and Mudflap and Skids make their way over to us. Bumblebee shakes snow off his face and shoulders and Mudflap and Skids dig me out as Bumblebee helps Ozera.

"Aw, c'mere," Skids says, lifting me and cradling me to his chest. Mudflap strokes me. "You cold, Roadkill?"

"Y-yes." I cuddle up to the warm spot on his chest as he rubs his palm over my body, attempting to warm me.

"C'mon," Mudlfap says. "Let's get 'er inside befo' she freezes. Boss'll kill us."

I laugh a shuddering laugh, rubbing my hands together and breathing on them.

"Ain't chu got no warm clothes?"

"No," I say. "I d-don't haven anyth-thing."

"We gon' hafta fix dat," Skids says.

And to my surprise, they _do_ fix that. Quickly. I'm fed warm food, take a warm shower, and curl up in the hangar under some warm blankets inside of Skids who, with Mudflap's help, convinced Beckett to let them take me shopping for warm clothes. Beckett doesn't think I'm a threat anymore and, when faced with my blue lips and frozen skin, quickly agrees—on the condition that I take another soldier. Carter comes.

"Go ta sleep," Skids tells me as I curl up on his seat. He blasts the hot air on me. "I'll wake ya when we's there."

"Mkay," I say. Mudflap drives beside us with Carter. I rub my fingers over Skids's seat gently and he makes a soft humming noise.

"Keep doin' dat," he says, his voice slurred, "dat feels good."

"Sure thing."

I fall asleep petting the seat, and Skids blares his horn to wake me up, laughing maniacally when I jolt, startled. I punch the seat and he grumbles.

"We here," he says, and I'm faced with a large mall. My heart soars.

"_Yay,_" I gasp. I reach for the door handle.

"Whoa, hang on one sec," he says, "we comin wit'chu."

"How?"

"Holoforms, nitwit," he says with a laugh. "Get out and wait fo' us."

I climb out obediently, shivering in the cold air, and wait. Carter comes to stand beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder, dressed in his military uniform. Within a couple of moments, Mudflap and Skids open their doors and they step out. I gasp.

Mudflap. Oh, _Mudflap_. He looks nothing like my drawings, but everything like what Mudflap should look like. He's wearing a baggy red-orange sweatshirt, the same color as the car, with baggy black jeans. His hair, fair blond, is braided back into cornrows. He has kind, bright blue eyes and is wearing a nervous smirk. He tugs a black a beanie on over his head, a ring on his finger catching the light—engraved with the Autobot symbol, I realize. My mouth falls open as I look at Skids.

He's a carbon copy of his brother; white skin, fair hair, blue eyes, but he's in bright green. He's wearing black pants, very low on his hips, his boxers sticking out. A white wifebeater tank top is on top, parts sloppily tucked into his boxers. Over the white tank is a bright green button-down shirt, unbuttoned, rumpled and slightly sloppy. His fair blond hair is styled, pushed up and back. His fingers are covered in bright rings, and around his neck is a heavy gold chain with the symbol of the Autobots dangling from it. When he smiles at me, he reveals a gold tooth. One of his ears is pierced with a gold hoop.

They're amazing, incredible. They give me sheepish smiles, looking awkward in their forms. They look around my age. They look like… like…

"Douchebags," I murmur. "You guys look like douchebags."

"Thanks!" Skids chirps. "We been workin' on 'em fo' a while. You like?"

"I _love_."

Carter rolls his eyes. "You definitely look like a couple of hooligans."

"Perfect," I insist, reaching forward and cupping Skid's face. I stroke my thumb over his cheek and he leans into my touch. I run my fingers though his hair. "Why aren't you in military uniforms?" Optimus, Ratchet, and Ironhide had all been in uniform when I'd seen their holograms.

"We ain't on duty," Mudflap tells me. "We get to have a lil fun wit' it."

"Come on," Carter says.

We enter the mall, and I slip my fingers into Mudflap's. He gives me a curious look, drawing our hands up, inspecting them, before smiling at me. I lace my fingers through Skids's next, walking between them, feeling elated. We browse through a few stores—Carter had been given money to buy me things, and I'd promised that either me or my brother would make up for it. I model a few outfits for my boys, who get strange looks wherever they go. But they're confident enough not to care. They whistle at the outfits they like, and I end up leaving with new jeans, legging, shirts, and hoodies.

We're leaving the store when we pass a _Windsor_, a dress shop. Skids tugs my hand and looks in the window from the dresses to me.

"Hey," he says, "why don't you ever wear them?"

I shrug. "I don't have a dress."

"Why not? Them's pretty."

"I don't need one, though."

"You need somethin' pretty."

"Those are fancy, Skids."

"Nah," he says, shaking his head. "Dey can't all be fancy."

He tugs my hand, pulling me behind him, and I tow Mudflap after me. Carter groans. He has a wife and two daughters. I knows what he's in for. The funny thing is, though, that Mudflap and Skids are worse than I am. They want me to try on _everything_. For some reason they're obsessed with the dresses.

"I wish I could wear one," Mudflap laments.

"You ain't a lady!"

"I know, but they so _pretty—"_

"_Jesus Christ,_" Carter says, "come on."

"I like dis one," Mudflap says, snatching a red dress.

"No," I say, even though I _love_ the dress. It's so—_me_. Short, snug. It would show off my hourglass figure, something I've always been proud of. I may not be the thinnest girl around, but I have great curves. I stare at the strapless tube dress, my heart aching. "No," I say again. Mudflap thrusts it at me.

"Can I help you with anything?" A salesgirl approaches us, but I shoo her away. This is going to kill me. I _adore_ dresses. I love dressing up and getting pretty and looking hot. This is torture, because I know that, with my life now, I have no reason to do any of the above.

But the twins are relentless. They pick out a few more dresses before ushering me into a fitting room, where I squeeze into the red one. I can't get it zipped all the way, so I step out, motioning to the twins. Skids bounces up.

"Zip me up?"

He zips the zipper and I stand back, modeling for them. They whistle approvingly. In my old life this is the sort of dress I would have bought on impulse and worn to a club for a night out with my girlfriends. Now, however… I have no reason for it. I shake my head.

"No," I say for the millionth time. "I love it, but no."

They look disappointed. I look in the mirror again, shaking my head. I look hot in it; my boobs seem to defy gravity, my legs look endless. But… no.

I step inside and change it, trying on the others. Some of them don't fit, some of them are hideous, and a couple of them are beautiful. I show them each dress until, finally, I've landed on the last one. I look at it regretfully. This has been fun, and now it's almost over. With a sigh, I slip into the dress.

It's a royal blue cocktail dress, a halter top with a V-neckline. It's snug under the bust but flows down from there, just tracing my hips, _hinting at_ curves, but not setting them out on display. It falls just above my knee. I stroke it, loving the satiny fabric, and know that this is my favorite dress. It's a date-night dress, something to be worn to a fancy dinner. Pretty, sexy, but not slutty. I play with the folds in the skirt, staring at myself. I look ridiculous with this beanie on, but still, I look so _pretty _in it.

"You okay, Roadkill?"

"Coming!"

I open the door and step out, and the twins' eyes sweep over my body.

"Nice," Mudflap says. "I knew I liked dat one."

"You look so pretty," Skids says, smiling at me, gold tooth flashing.

"Thanks," I say, twirling. The color, the royal blue, looks great on me, contrasting wonderfully with my dark skin. Skids reaches forward and rubs the fabric between his fingers. The salesgirl pokes her head around the corner.

"Ooh," she says, "I _love_ it."

"Me too."

"How much is it?" Mudflap asks. I glance at the pricetag.

"Fifty."

"That one's on clearance, actually," the salesgirl beams. "Twenty-five, now."

"You want it, Roadkill?"

The twins are watching me, their eyes kind.

"I—"

"We want to get it fo' you," Skids insists. "You need somethin' pretty."

"I have pretty things, Skids."

"Not that pretty," Mudflap reasons. God, I want it _so badly_, but I feel guilty.

"I would never wear it."

"Why not?"

"I have no reason to." I shake my head. "No, it's stupid."

"We'll take you on a date," Skids insists. "Then you can wear it."

"But—"

"Roadkill," Skids says very seriously, standing and holding my face between his hands. "Do you want dat dress?"

"I—"

"Do you want the dress?"

"Yes."

Skids and Mudflap beam, almost looking happier than I am. "Then we'll buy it fo' ya."

I argue a little more, but I do so only halfheartedly. In the end, I'm dressed in my normal clothes, carrying the pretty little dress carefully in my hands, Mudflap and Skids holding my other bags. I cradle the dress very carefully, because it is precious. Not only is it beautiful and nice, but it's a gift from the twins, and that means more to me than anything else. They'd gotten it for me, insisted I buy it because I'd looked so pretty in it. They'd wanted to do something nice.

"You guys better take me on that date," I tell them as we approach the cars. "Somewhere well-lit, where everyone can see me."

"Of course," Skids laughs, "we wanna see you in it, too. Ain't dat right, Mudflap?" He wiggles his eyebrows and gives me a suggestive smirk, and I laugh it off with them. Even Carter laughs. We load up and I ride with Mudflap this time, because it's only fair. He keeps the hologram activated, playing with my skin because he loves the sensation of touch, and because we're friends, and because he _can_. The affection between the three of us is openly displayed, constantly. We have no reason to hide it.

He is easily able to drive and use the holoform at once, which amazes me. I stare out the windows, my eyes only half-watching the stores we drive past. But one catches my eye—a bright sign with scissors on it. A hair salon. The name reads: _Curl Up and Dye_.

Oh. My. God.

"_STOP!"_

Mudflap slams on the brakes.


	27. Chapter 27

**NOTE: Another filler, but it was oh so much fun. Don't worry. We get back down to business in the next chapter. Guess who's gonna join the party? :)**

**Again, I just want to thank **_**UlurNaga**_**, who is totally amazing and wonderful and fantastic. She helped me out with the hairdressing terms and whatnot for this chapter. You're the best!**

**So this is just a fun little chapter. Some Mudflap and Skids funnies, some sweetness, the good stuff. :) like I said, next chapter will be more serious and less filler-y.**

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 27<span>

"What's wrong? What's wrong?"

I'm thrown forward, the seat belt snapping me back as Mudflap screeches to a halt, his brother swerving to avoid us.

"N-nothing," I gasp. "Shit, sorry. Mudflap, that's—that's a _hair salon._" I watch his blue eyes flicker as he ducks his head down in confusion. He arches a blond eyebrow at me. "I have to go in," I say by way of explanation. Carter taps on our window and Mudflap rolls it down.

"Everything okay?"

"Yes," I say, climbing out of the car. "Look, I need to go in there." I point at the salon.

"No," Carter groans, rolling his eyes. "_Please_ don't put me through that."

"Wait outside or something," I say, approaching the salon eagerly. Mudflap and Skids park at the curb and follow us.

"Parker, come back!"

"No," I snap, "look, I don't think you _understand_ exactly what it's like to have this hair. I am going in there and I am going to get it fixed if I can, God willing, and then we can go home. Got it?"

Carter and the boys look at me, looking slightly unnerved. They _so_ do not want to mess with me. This is non-negotiable. I spin away from them and dart into the salon before they can catch me, the bell at the door tinkling as I duck my head in, looking at the woman at the front counter.

"Hi," I tell her as the three men slide in behind me. Mudflap and Skids look _fascinated_. Carter looks suicidal and somewhat nervous.

"Appointment?"

"Um—no."

"Sorry," she says with a falsely sweet smile. "We don't take walk-ins."

My heart sinks, but her superior attitude pisses me off. "Can I just talk to someone?"

"No." My eyes narrow. She gives me another tight smile. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"What if I want to make an appointment with someone?"

She gives a delicate little snort, her eyes raking up and down my body, and I feel myself puffing up defensively. "Please," she drawls in that superior tone, taking in my scuffed Converse, my oil-stained jeans, and my faded sweatshirt, her eyes finally landing on the beanie. "I doubt you could afford us."

Oh, hell no.

"Okay," I say, approaching her. She's a middle aged woman, at least four inches shorter and fifty pounds lighter than me. I could take her. I put on my best obviously-fake-somewhat-threatening-smile. "You _really_ don't understand what I've been through," I tell her. "So, this is what's going to happen. You're going call one of your buddies, and I am going to talk to them, and I am going to make an _appointment_. I can afford it. Trust me."

She takes us all in, and I realize we probably aren't the best-looking crowd. Carter is the only one who looks well-mannered in his uniform. Mudflap, Skids, and I look like a trio of unruly street kids. Her eyes flash and she takes a step back from me, the counter barring my way to her. But she doesn't back down.

"Oh," she says in that sarcastic, grating tone. Her eyes flicker between the three of us. "I don't think _you_ understand. We run a classy establishment here, and we don't allow certain riff-raff in here to cause trouble. I'm going to have to ask you to leave," she says again.

I don't like the way she's looking at Mudflap and Skids, her lip curling like she's looking at some sort of insect. The twins glance at each other uncertainly, unsure of what to do under her scathing gaze. I step protectively in front of them, tapping my nails on the counter.

"I'm sorry, is there a problem?"

"Yes, actually," she says, wrinkling her nose at the twins again before looking me up and down again. My fist clenches on the counter; I want to punch her _so badly_, if only to wipe that smirk off her face. We've drawn some attention; a couple of the female stylists are murmuring to each other, and a male heads toward the back of the salon. I just smirk at her, shrugging, giving her a _what can you do?_ look. I know I should just leave. I should go back to base and forget all about this, but I don't. I will _not_ lose to this cranky old bitch.

"C'mon," Skids says, grabbing my hand uncertainly. "Let's get outta here."

"Yes," she says curtly. "That sounds like a good idea."

"No, I think I'll stay for a bit, actually." I tug my hand out of Skids's. "You still haven't made my appointment."

"I—"

"_What_ is going on _here?_" The woman and my group all spin around to face a man—a very tall, thin, _flamboyant_ man. His hands are up, and he narrows his eyes at all of us accusingly.

"I was just asking them to leave, Raul."

"And I was just asking for an appointment, Raul," I say sweetly.

Raul's eyes flicker between us before settling on me, ignoring the woman. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah," I say, "I need my hair fixed. She said you don't take walk ins, so I wanted an appointment. But she doesn't think we can afford you—isn't that what you said?"

I lean around Raul and give the woman a deadly look. Raul throws his head back and makes an annoyed groaning sound before looking at me again, crossing his arms. He scans me up and down like she had, but without the critical look. He just seems curious.

"You're mixed race, aren't you?"

"Yes," I tell him, and he sighs heavily.

"Lucky for you, I _can_ work with your hair texture. Let me see what I have to work with."

Fast as lightning, his hand shoots out, snatching the beanie from my head. Skids and Mudflap flank me, watching him in an almost threatening fashion, but he has eyes only for me—or, rather, for my hair. His eyes widen and his full, pouty lips part slightly.

"Oh my sweet baby Jesus," he says, "_this_ is an emergency."

"You got that right."

"Darcy," he says, glancing at the woman. "What is my schedule like for today?"

"Your next appointment is at six."

"I can make it work." That gives us four hours. The woman looks shocked.

"But—Raul—think of the _customers_—what will they think—"

Raul ignores her, taking me by my shoulder and guiding me to his station, sitting me firmly in a chair. Mudflap, Skids, and Carter follow, and he seats them in empty stations around us. Tutting to himself, he sifts through my hair, wincing and shaking his head.

"Darling," he asks me, "who _did_ this to you? They should be _shot!_"

I haven't had a proper haircut in about two years, so I know the style is horrible. Plus there's the short growing-in hair. The stitches have been removed.

"I was in a car accident," I say, "busted my head. They had to shave it to stitch me up."

He shakes his head. Then he dangles the beanie in front of my face. "Do you see this thing?" I nod. "When I'm done with you, you will _never_ wear this thing again."

He puts his weight on one hip, one arm folded across his abdomen, finger to his lips thoughtfully. He touches my face and tugs on my hair a couple of times before he nods to himself.

"Do you trust me?"

I blink. "I don't know," I say warily.

"Well, you're going to have to," he says. "Besides, it can't get any worse than this, can it?"

"True."

"Please," he says, "give me artistic control here. _Please_. I can fix you."

I laugh, nodding. "Okay, sure. Go for it."

"_Yay!_" He claps his hands and calls his assistant, ordering him to take me in the back and wash my hair. Carter groans.

"We're in for a torturous few hours, boys," he tells Mudflap and Skids. "Just wait."

I tug off my sweatshirt, revealing a black tank, and head to the wash stations. I sit in the chair and the man washes my hair. I forgot how _good_ it feels to have someone else wash my hair, and I feel my muscles relaxing. I've always loved getting my hair done. There's _nothing_ better than having someone else wash and brush your hair. I close my eyes and enjoy it, and it's over too soon. When I return to the others, Raul has put a sheet up over the mirror and the ones around it so that I can't see my reflection.

"Um," I say. He's sitting and chatting with Carter and the twins. He bounces up when he sees me and points at the chair.

"Sit." I sit. "Did Darcy give you a hard time?"

"Yeah," I say, my voice annoyed.

"Ugh," he sighs, parting and clipping back my hair. "She is _such_ a bitch. Look down and uncross your legs. Sit up straight. Sorry about her, anyway."

"Whatever," I shrug.

"I have to admit, though," he says, laughing, "you're quite the bunch." He motions at Mudflap and Skids. "They _do_ realize they're white, don't they?"

I laugh and they glance curiously over at me. "I think so."

"Hm."

He stares at my head for a few minutes and glances at a picture book that I'm not allowed to see. He leans over me, grasping my shoulders.

"Would you say you're a daring person?" he asks. "I mean, when it comes to hair."

"Sure, do whatever you want. Just make me look good."

"Darling, you could be bald and still look good."

"_I know right?_" And we start laughing, and he pats my head, and I decide that I like this guy, this Raul. "Just don't shave me bald."

"I would _never_," he gasps, grabbing his shears. "You have gorgeous hair. Except for the cut and all that."

"Thanks," I snort sarcastically, and he laughs softly.

"Ready?"

"Yes."

I hear the scissors cut through my hair, and he places the hair in my hand. My heart stutters a little. He took _a lot_ off. But, before he can make another move, Skids has bounded up to us, looking at me with something like horror in his eyes.

"What?" I demand. "Is it bad? What happened?"

He looks at the hair in my hand, then at Raul, then back to the hair, looking utterly confused.

"That don't hurt?"

"What? No. It's _hair_, Skids." I slip up saying his name—definitely not a human name. Raul gives Skids the strangest look.

"But he just—"

"Skids, it's fine." I give him a look, my eyes wide. "Go sit down with Mudflap and Carter."

He gives Raul a deadly look. "Don'chu hurt my Roadkill."

"Um."

"_Skids_."

"I'm goin', I'm goin'."

I groan as he sits down and Raul just stares at me. "He—he was in the car accident, too," I say weakly. "Memory loss. He's a little confused."

"Uh-huh." Obviously he doesn't believe me.

"And, um… he's—foreign?"

"Whatever you say," Raul says, cutting away at my hair. "Please tell me those aren't your real names."

"Oh, no," I say, struggling for another lie. "Those are just—nicknames. You know. We work in an auto shop together, so our nicknames are all car related."

"_Roadkill?_"

"Yeah," I blush. "Um. Long story. But my real name's Parker. And Skids is actually—Steven. And Mudflap—his real name is—Matt. They're twins."

"I can see that," Raul says.

"Racially confused twins," I amend quickly, earning a laugh from Raul.

"They're cute," he tells me in a quiet, secretive voice. Raul is in his forties, at least, too old for them in any case. Then again, they are million-year-old robots. "In a confused sort of way."

"They're only, like, twenty-three," I say, picking an age.

"Age is but a number, my darling,"

"And they're not gay."

He sighs. "You know what they say; the cute ones are always either straight, or taken."

I start laughing and he grasps my head between his hands, holding it still. We chat, and conversation with him is easy; he's funny and quirky and full of attitude and opinions. It takes him _forever_ to cut my hair, and he's constantly slapping my hands away when I try to touch it to judge the length. He spins me around in my chair to work on the front, brushing out my bangs, holding them between two fingers, and snipping away. He leaves them long, slanting them into my eyes.

"I'm going to give it some texture, and then I'm going to use a technique we call chipping," he says, grabbing a different pair of shears and snipping wildly at the ends of my hair before messing it up. I have no idea what _chipping_ is, but texture sounds good. Anyway, it's out of my hands now. Raul is having a field day, I can tell. "Stay put," he says once he's satisfied, and darts to the back. When he emerges, he comes back with foil and a small bowl of hair-dye. My eyes widen.

"I've never dyed my hair before."

He groans. "Ugh. I'm working with virgin hair?"

"Yeah."

"Fantastic."

"What are you going to do to me?"

"I'm going to give you a little _flare_."

"What color is that?"

"You'll see. We're going to _splice_ you." He winks.

He carefully selects a chunk of the hair in my bangs, slathers it in dye, and then wraps it in the foil. He does this a few more times, then he sets me aside to wait, going back to make conversation with my group. This is the worst part, the waiting, but it passes fairly quickly. Soon enough, I'm getting my hair washed again, and he towels me off, inspecting it before nodding to himself. He pulls out a blow drier and a hair straightener, and I shift nervously at the tools—he brings out two straighteners, one less than an inch wide, the other a full inch and a half. He winks.

"Trust me." I swallow and nod and he blows my hair out, tugging it with a round brush, running his hands through the back. I'm getting the distinct feeling that it's _very_ short. He goes to work straightening. "This is it," he chirps excitedly. "We're at the home stretch!"

"How long as it been?" He checks his watch.

"Three hours."

_Holy shit_.

He straightens my hair, going very slowly and meticulously, then puts some wax and shine in it, messing it up. When he looks at me when he's finished, his eyes are brimming with excitement.

"You are going to _love_ me—don't touch it!" My hand freezes and he approaches the mirror. "Ready?"

"Yes," I say, more excited than nervous now. I glance at Carter and the twins—the twins give me a thumbs up. Raul grabs the sheet in his hands.

"I feel like _Extreme Makeover._ You won't recognize yourself."

"Oh my God," I gasp excitedly, "let me see already!"

In one swift motion he yanks the sheet away and I stare at myself in the mirror. Sure enough, I almost _don't_ recognize myself. I gasp, my eyes huge, and reach up to feel my hair.

"Well? What do you think?"

"I—" I try to gather my scattered thoughts. I'm _elated_. "_I love it!_"

He's chopped all of my hair off. It's short, boy-short in the back and extremely layered, growing longer at the top. It's messy and cute and sexy and sort of rockstar-ish, but not quite. He beams.

"It's two inches long in the back," he tells me, running his fingers through it. "I kept it short and added a bunch of layers to hide the scar. It gets longer as you go up, about five and six inches at the top and the bangs. And the great thing is you can do _so much_ with it."

He's right. He tells me I can wear it like this, or I can wear it messier, like I've just rolled out of bed, or I can wear it soft and slicked back, so that I look elegant and sophisticated. I can even wear it curly when I'm lazy, though he seriously recommends it straight. I can't stop staring at it.

The bangs are heavy (not emo, but stylish and girly), the longest parts falling into my eyes in a layered mess. It's easy to spot the dye—a bright, fire-hydrant red, a chunked and spaced out in my bangs, like he'd painted the strips with red paint. The effect is sharp, but not overwhelming. It _screams_ daring, and fun, and confident.

"You can hardly tell about the missing hair in the back," he says and I run my hands through the short hair back there. I glance at him.

"_Thank you_."

"You like it?"

"Oh my God, Raul, I _love_ it. I look great. I—oh my _God!_" I practically squeal and he beams, pulling the black robe from around my shoulders, shaking it out.

"I'm glad you like it."

My confidence has soared. I feel like a new woman. Right now, I am really, truly, my own person. I am no longer the Decepticon girl, no longer a pet. I am _Parker Rook_. I am free, I look hot. I'm _oozing_ confidence; I feel like the sexiest girl alive right now. I can't wait to show myself off. I can't stop looking at myself in the mirror. I feel like a model. Or a rockstar. A model _and_ a rockstar.

This, this girl staring back at me from the mirror, with her sexy new hair, her confident smirk, her dark, excited eyes—_this girl_ is Parker Rook.

I jump up and throw my arms around Raul.

"Thank you," I breathe. This means so much to me. It's more than just a haircut, and I hope he understands that. I think he does. He's helped me move on, and neither of us had realized it. I glance at the hair on the floor, like old memories, watching as they're swept away by another assistant. The other stylists, who have all been watching us, are smiling.

"Raul," a woman sighs, "you never cease to amaze me." She gives me a warm look. "Sweetie, you look _great_."

"Thanks."

Raul places the beanie in my hands with a knowing look, and I toss it in a trashcan. His smile widens, and a dimple surfaces. I'm so happy I could cry right now. I look in the mirror again, at the wisps of hair that frame my face; the cut highlights my strong jaw and cheekbones. I look fierce. I can take on the world.

I buy two straighteners to manage the lengths of my hair, and also buy the wax. In the end, it's rather pricey, and I feel guilty. I give Raul a big hug before I leave, telling him thank you one last time. I smirk at Darcy as we leave.

"Wow, Roadkill," Skids says once we make it out. "You lookin' _fiiine_."

"You like it?"

"Yeah," Mudflap says, nodding. "Took fo'ever, but—you happy, ain't ya?"

"Of course I'm happy."

"Then that's all that matters, ain't it?"

I smile and turn to Carter. "I'm sorry. That was expensive. But I promise I'll—"

He shrugs. "Wasn't my money, anyway," he says. "And, honestly, I'd pay it out of my own pocket to see you looking this confident. Who knew a haircut was all it took?"

"It's a girl thing."

"Tell me about it. My girls are the same way. Come on, we gotta go."

And we do. We load up into Mudflap and Skids, and I ride with Mudflap again because we hadn't finished our last trip. Mudflap spends a lot of time playing gently with my hair, enjoying the sensations of the silky strands through his fingertips. I'm only slightly startled when he leans into me, burying his nose against my head and inhaling deeply.

"What was that?"

"Just enjoyin' bein' human's all," he says, inhaling again. "You smell _good_."

I laugh and grab his hand, pressing my nose to his skin-but-not-really-skin. I inhale deeply and laugh harder.

"You smell like new car."

"What was you expectin'?"

"I don't know, not that," I grin. He's shifted the center console out of the way so that we have more room to lean on each other. I tuck myself up into his side and he wraps an arm affectionately around my shoulders, both of us enjoying the closeness. I've grown used to the constant static shocks, and I don't mind them much anymore.

"Mudflap?" I ask, my nose pressed against his throat.

"'Sup?"

"Do you like this—being human?"

He shrugs. "It feels weird—I like bein' _me_ best. But this lets me get close to ya without crushin' ya—and I can feel mo' dis way."

I smile and snuggle against him. It's not an intimate cuddle—not in the least. It's an innocent, we're-friends-and-I-love-you-so-much-I-just-want-to-be-close-to-you cuddle. I honestly feel like he's my brother, and so is Skids. He gives me a gentle squeeze.

I'm close to these two in a way that I've never, ever been close to anyone else before. Not Megatron, or Barricade, or Optimus, or any of my old human friends. My brother is the only one, but he doesn't count because he's my brother and we were born to love each other. These guys, Mudflap and Skids… they had chosen to love me, and I had chosen to love them, and there was a bond between us now, one that nothing can break.

"Love you," I tell him, playing with his fingers, knowing he loves the new sensation.

"Love you too," he says. "Actually, me an' Skids wanted to ask ya somethin'. But we should wait till we get back to base. We gotta ask Boss, too."

This piques my interest.

"What is it?"

"It's a surprise."

"Grr."

He tickles my sides playfully.

"Can I have a hint?"

"Nope."

"Jerk."

He ruffles my new hair and then gets distracted by it, playing with it. I wish I could play with his hair to show him how good it feels, but his hair is done up in cornrows, and it's not the same. Instead I sigh, resting my head on his shoulder, allowing the feel of his fingers sifting through my hair to lull me. And we talk. About nothing, about everything, about life and death and war.

"You think Megarton's gon' come fo' you?" Mudflap eventually asks, and I can tell this has been on his mind for a while. I shrug as he touches my face, his fingers curious.

"Maybe," I say. "But I won't go back. Not if I can help it."

"I don' want'chu to go," he says quietly, and I glance up at him; his jaw is set, his chin sticking out. I touch his chin with a finger.

"I'm not going anywhere," I reassure him. "They have no idea where I am. And I've got you to protect me. They don't stand a chance."

"Dat's right."

I sigh again. "What happens when the war is over?" My voice is quiet. "Will I still see you?"

He gives me a _well, duh_, look. "Course," he says. "Me an' Skids—we ain't never gon' leave ya, Roadkill. You's _our_ human."

"And you're _my_ giant alien robo-twins."

"I like da sound o' dat."

"Get used to it, buddy," I tell him.

He switches on the radio after a while, and we sing the songs we know together.

"How long do you think it'll be before the Optimus and my brother get back?"

"I dunno," he says as we make it to base. The snow has been cleared away and _someone_, most likely Ironhide, blasted away the ice. "Soon, probably. It ain't gon' be much longer."


	28. Chapter 28

**NOTE: Less filler-y, yay! It's setting up for things to come. So, remember that question Mudflap and Skids wanted to ask P? Well, it comes up here, sort of… but you're not gonna know till she does what the question is ;) **

**A Lennox/Parker moment, and also some Parker/OP. Aw. And guess who Parker's gonna move in with? Hehehe**

**Sorry about the wait! And ignore any typos! :D**

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 28<span>

They'd been gone longer than we'd thought they'd be. At first I'd quietly freaked out. What should have been a 2-week trip had morphed into three, into nearly a full month. All the horrible scenarios had run through my head; they'd been attacked, they'd been hurt. But I'd been informed that the new Autobot, someone named Mirage, had caused a fair bit of trouble—something about an aversion to "organics," whatever that meant.

All that matters now, though, is that they're home.

I'd missed them all so much; my brother, Lennox, Roger… Optimus, too, and even Sideswipe. I'd even missed Ratchet, as grumpy as he was and as much as he ignored me. The bots and men had all retired to get some sleep and recharge, I guess, so I wouldn't be able to see the bots until later tonight, when they woke. Until then, I was being kept from the hangar; everyone guessed that Mirage wouldn't take too kindly to my presence, considering the fact that he didn't like people very much.

The boys are up, though, having gotten their sleep. So I'm sitting with Savannah and Lennox in the cafeteria, completely relieved to have them home safe. We're not talking much; we'd already discussed the trip, and after Savannah had finished his heart attack over my hair (he's a typical male; he likes long hair) he'd grown to like it, and is now toying with the fringe-y bangs.

"Why _red_, though?" He asks.

"I didn't choose it. It was a surprise."

"Hm."

I glance at Lennox, not for the first time wondering why he's sitting with us. He looks like he has something on his mind, like he's just waiting for the right moment to say it. I push Savannah's fingers out of my bangs and give Lennox a skeptical look.

"You know," I tell him, pointing my spork at him, "as charming as I am, I'm getting the feeling you're not just here for my company. Wanna spill already? What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything," he says, an easy smile curving his lips. He doesn't smile at me much anymore, so that in itself throws me for a loop. I blink.

"Oh," I say, "well, then, you _must_ just be here to admire my haircut."

"That's it," he grins, "you caught me."

I roll my eyes. "What's up?"

He and Savannah exchange a look. "I actually wanted to talk to you about living here," he says, clearly having decided just to dive right in. "You're not technically under our protection anymore, and you're not really a refugee anymore, either."

"What's your point?" I'm getting a Really Bad Feeling.

"The point," he says, "is that you're just a civilian. Unauthorized, at that." I wait for him to go on, and he gives me a pained look. "Look, Parker. You can't stay here."

A breath hisses out from between my teeth. "Damn," I say, "worn out my welcome already?"

He laughs. "Your welcome was worn out well after you got here."

"So you're kicking me out? On the streets?" I pull a melodramatic, wounded face, laying my hand over my heart. "I have no home! Where am I supposed to live, in a box under a freeway?"

"Actually, P," Savannah says, "after mom died, I got the house. They left it to us in their wills, but you weren't around so it went to me." I watch him carefully; I hadn't known about this. Hadn't given it much thought, really. "And, you know, things got pretty serious between me and Ronnie—_don't make that face_—" I'd wrinkled my nose and gagged at the mention of Ronnie Addams "—anyway, things got serious, and she moved in with me."

"What a nice story," I say sarcastically, trying to shove the image of Ronnie Addams in my house out of my head. He glares at me.

"Parker," he says slowly, as though speaking to an incredibly unintelligent five-year-old. "Do you remember where we lived?"

It's sad, but I actually have to think about it for a minute. It'd been so long ago, and so many things had happened since then. "Uh," I say dumbly, "Hampton?"

"Very good," he coos, "Hampton, Virginia. And where are we now?"

"Washington, D.C."

"Good!" He chirps, and I punch him. "Ow," he mutters, rubbing his arm resentfully. "Anyway. Hampton's only, like, three-ish hours from here."

"What's your point?"

"My point," he says, giving me a _huge_, excited smile, "is that you don't have to be homeless. You can move in with Ronnie!"

My blood boils. "Oh, _can_ I? Thanks for the permission, considering _it's my house!_"

The smile slides from his face and Lennox chokes on a laugh. "I already asked Ronnie, and she said it was okay—"

"Oh, _did_ you?" Savannah shrinks into himself, wondering what he possibly did wrong. He looks to Lennox for help, and Lennox just holds his hands up.

"Saw that coming a mile away," Lennox laughs, "been married a while, kid. You learn things. Women can be territorial about these things."

"Shut it, you," I growl, then round on my brother again. "Vannah, I don't need _her_ permission to move into _my_ house."

"Well, I just thought, since she's been there and you _haven't_—"

I can tell he's getting flustered, and I close my eyes and take a deep breath, knowing I'm being unreasonable. If it was anyone else other than Ronnie, would I mind as much? I'm not sure. And he really is trying to do something nice, here.

"Never mind," I say, pushing back my throbbing headache. I don't want to fight, not when he just got back. "Drop it. It's fine. Okay? You're right. She's been there, I haven't, blah, blah, blah. So, basically, I'm getting kicked out?"

"I wouldn't phrase it that way, but, yeah, basically," Lennox says. "There's no reason for you to be here, and I've got people on my ass for it."

"Ugh." I glance at Savannah, and I can tell he's still excited about the idea. His soon-to-be-fiancé and his sister can be bestest friends—yaaay! _Not._ _So_ not going to happen, but I'll let him think it will, for now. At least I have somewhere to go. I shrug.

"So," he says slowly, "you wanna live with Ronnie? She's the greatest, P, really, and she's so excited now that she knows you're okay."

"Better than the Decepticons, I guess," I say, grinning. "They were my first choice."

"Hardy-har." Savannah doesn't look amused—or at least he tries not to look amused. I can see him fighting back a smile, and I'm glad we can joke about it now. Even Lennox smiles softly, shaking his head. Savannah clears his throat loudly and obnoxiously, giving Lennox a pointed look. Lennox sighs and I look at him curiously.

"_Anyways_," Savannah says too-innocently, standing and throwing his trash away. He ruffles my hair. "I gotta go. You know. Things to do, places to go…"

I give him a narrow-eyed, suspicious look, but he just walks away, leaving me alone with Lennox, who stares after him for a moment, looking annoyed. He finally turns back to me and our eyes meet; I offer him a timid smile.

"You've got cars to wash," he finally says, and I blink. "What?" he asks, "We're kicking you out, but you're still going to work while you're here."

I moan, tilting my head back. "Who do I have to wash today?" I ask as we stand, tossing our things out.

"Sideswipe, Optimus, and Ratchet." I groan again and he laughs, walking me to the hangar.

"So how long do I have before you throw me out?"

"A couple of days," he says. "I really can't keep you, Parker. I'm sorry."

"I know," I tell him, surprised at how easily he's talking to me. "Thanks for keeping me this long, though. Really."

"Sure," he says, then clears his throat awkwardly. "Ah—Look, Parker," he says, and I turn to face him curiously as we walk. He slows his pace until we've stopped. "I wanted to tell you—you know, about the whole Megatron thing—and when you almost died—" He stops himself to gather his words, and I think about it. Ever since I'd nearly died, he'd been a lot nice to me. I wait patiently and he sighs. "I should've told you this a while ago, but better late than never right?" I nod.

"What you did—Your brother and I had a talk, and I started thinking, put my place in your shoes. And I thought, _what if it had been me?_ You know? What if I'd been in your place, and they'd told me a story about Sarah or Annabelle?" The thought alone seems to cause him pain and he runs his hand through his short hair. "What I'm trying to say is that I understand why you did what you did; I would have done the same thing, honestly. I'd do anything for them. And, looking back on it now, I realize that you _are_ loyal to us, in spite of everything. I just want you to know that."

We look at each other for a long moment, and I'm dumbfounded, unsure of how to respond. He shrugs, like what he'd just said is no big deal. My throat closes up slightly. He may be clumsy with his words, too prideful to really apologize, but this means the world to me. I smile a little.

"Thank you," I breathe earnestly. He shrugs again, and that's it; the moment is over. He starts walking again, guiding me back to the Autobots.

"Get to work," he says, but before he can push me into the hangar I give him a quick hug, a hard squeeze.

"Thanks," I say again. "_Really_."

He stiffens, then squeezes me back, pulling away with a warm smile. And it's here, now, that I see the Lennox I had known _before_ everything had gone down; a kind, compassionate, friendly man, a father. I'd lost access to that side of him for a while, and knowing I had it back now, even though I was due to leave soon, meant a lot.

I step away from him, and, just like that, things are normal. He quirks a grin and messes up my hair.

"Nice haircut," he says sarcastically. "You know, we normally don't allow unnatural colors on a base. We want our people to look—you know—_respectable_."

"Good thing I'm not a soldier then, huh?"

"Good thing we're kicking you out soon, huh?" He counters, ducking away from me as I roll my eyes.

"That hurts," I say. "Really, it does. Where's the love?"

He scoffs. "I'm not your _friend_," he tells me. "If you want love, go hang with the twins."

"Fine," I snap, still playing wounded. "I can tell when I'm not wanted. I'll go hand out with someone who _appreciates me_."

"Whatever, kid," he says, laughing. "Get to work, would you?"

"Yeah, yeah," I say, turning away from him and heading into the hangar.

I walk quietly, afraid to wake any of them, though I'm sure the ones who are out won't be woken by something as soft as the sound of my feet on the hard ground. Still, I tread softly, skimming my fingers over Mudflap's hood as I pass him. He rolls forward, nudging my hip, and I give him a pat as I stroke Skids, next, who seems to lean into my touch. I pause between them, keeping my voice to a whisper.

"Is anyone up yet?" I murmur. The lights in the hangar are dim, and I wonder if maybe Lennox had made a mistake. Maybe I shouldn't be in here.

"Nope," Skids says, his voice a comical whisper. I tap my nails on his hood.

"Lennox told me to wash them," I tell the twins. "But I don't want to wake them."

They're silent for a beat before Mudflap speaks up.

"Oh, dat's okay," he says, "just wash 'em while they's sleepin'."

I give him a skeptical look, not sure if he can see it. "They need to be _outside_, smart one."

"Just roll 'em," Skids says.

"Shut up."

"No, really," Skids says earnestly.

"What am I supposed to do? Put them in neutral and give them a push?" I think they missed the sarcasm.

"You stupid or somethin', Roadkill?" Mudflap asks, something like disbelief coloring his voice. I kick his front tire. "We's easy to move when we's asleep. Like cow tippin'. Just push an' we roll."

"You're kidding."

"No," Skids says, like he can't believe I'm unaware of this fact. "We ain't got no control of ourselves when we's asleep. It's easy."

"I dunno," I say slowly. "Maybe I shouldn't."

"Maybe you should," Mudflap counters. "Trust me, Roadkill. I don' want Lennox mad at'choo for not cleanin' 'em up."

"True."

"Watch," Skids says. "Bee's out. Try it on 'im."

I glance at Bumblebee, in his Camaro form, seemingly asleep. Not that I know what a sleeping car looks like, but still. I glance uneasily at the twins. It feels wrong to push sleeping robots around.

"I dunno," I say again. "I wouldn't like it if someone washed _me_ while I was sleeping."

"It's different fo' us," Skids say. "I'd _love_ if I woke up all nice an' clean. Ain't dat right, Mudflap?"

"It sho is."

I glance between them, then look at Bumblebee. What the heck? Might as well try. And besides, if this turns out to be true and I _can_ roll sleeping robots around with a simple push… I've only got a couple of days left here—a fact that I'm determined not to think about, because I really don't want to get upset. So, instead I start to smile just _thinking_ about the havoc waiting to be wreaked. I wonder why they haven't told me this before, then shrug it off. I slide in behind Bumblebee and press my hands against his rear, then push. It takes little more than a gentle push; I really don't have to put much effort into it at all. And then he rolls forward with me as I push him; not once does he stir or show any signs of life. I smile.

This might be _so great_ in the future.

"Sweet," I say, moving to his front and rolling him back into his parking spot. I turn to the twins with an accusing look. "Do you have any idea how great this is? Think of what we could do to them! Why didn't you tell me before?" I cry in a hushed whisper.

"Dunno," Skids says.

"Never came up," Mudflap finished.

"Man, we gotta use this," I say, my mind already scheming. "You guys know I only have a couple days here, right?"

The cars seem to droop in their frames, and immediately I regret mentioning it. Don't think about it, I urge myself. Don't think about saying goodbye, about leaving them—I'll see them again, surely—

"We know," Skids says. He seems to pick up on my mood and quickly goes on. "But we got a surprise fo' you. Maybe. So just you hold tight. Don' be sad yet."

"It better be good," I say, almost absently; I'm looking for a distraction, anything to keep my mind off of the move—and I find distraction in the form of a red Ferarri Italia, and it makes my heart _stop_. "_Oh my God." _I stare at it. "That… that's Mirage?"

"Yeah, why?"

"That is the _sexiest_ car I've ever seen," I say, nearly swooning. Mudflap sniggers and Skids makes an offended sound.

"We's sexy too!"

"You are," I say, still distracted. I want to _touch_ the Ferarri. Now. "But… if that car was a man, I'd jump his bones so fast—"

Mudflap laughs quietly. "Go flirt wit' 'im," he says. "He'll squash you _so fast_."

"Pity."

"I'm sexy, too," Skids mumbles, sounding annoyed, and I laugh, turning away from the sex-on-wheels car. I rub Skids's hood and lean over to stretch my arms across it.

"You are sexy," I tell him, squeezing the metal. I sigh and stand up, looking away from the Ferarri again and instead focusing my attention on the cars who need to be washed, and I cringe. They're a _mess_. It's nearly impossible to see their colors under all the dirt and grime, and I wonder what, exactly, they've been _doing_ to get so filthy. "Damn it," I grumble, and Skids nudges my legs.

"Best get to work," he says, and I nod. I walk quietly over to Sideswipe, the smallest and probably the easiest to move. I have no idea how I'll move Optimus when the time comes. The guy is _massive_. But I push the thought out of my mind and focus on the darkness outside, seemingly so far away now. Bracing myself and hoping I don't wake him, I place my hands on his rear and _push_.

He doesn't move.

"Try again," Mudflap urges. "He's prolly havin' a nightmare."

"What?" I hiss.

"Our wheels lock up when we's havin bad dreams."

"Seriously?" I mutter to myself, wondering what, exactly, he could be dreaming about. I didn't even know they dreamed. I square my shoulders.

"Push hard," Skids calls quietly. "You won't hurt 'im. He sleeps like he dead."

"Give 'im a nice shove. You got dis, Roadkill!"

I take a deep breath and shove my hands against Sideswipe's rear, fully expecting him to move. He doesn't. Instead, my elbows shudder, my hands slide against the metal, and I smack into him with a loud _thunk!_ And then, all at once, his alarm starts going off, deafeningly loud.

_Honk, honk, honk, honk…_

"Shit!" The alarm changes pitch and pattern, and just as I'm wondering what to do, several things happen at once; Sideswipe starts to transform furiously; to my left, I see Ironhide exploding into his bipedal form, cannons charging; Optimus transforms as well; the twins are roaring with laughter, having transformed; and _Bumblebee_ is laughing, too, just as hard as they are. I shove away from Sideswipe as he transforms, and everyone else does, too, and angry shouts fill the hangar.

"_What in the name of Cybertron is going on here?"_ Ironhide roars, and I nearly squeak in fear. "Sideswipe! Turn that racket off!"

There's a sharp chirping sound, and the alarm dies out abruptly. They're all looking around, and suddenly six pairs of Autobot eyes are staring at me. I'm standing in a circle of them, the other three—Bumblebee, Mudflap, and Skids—still laughing. I'm seriously afraid I'm about to be crushed as I stare up at them, heart pounding. I am going to _kill_ those three if I make it out of this.

"Um—" I start.

"Ugh," a new voice drawls, one I haven't heard before. "A fleshling, of course." The voice has a distinctly Italian accent, and I turn toward it, discovering a new red Autobot. He's glaring down at me, blades drawn, and I take a step back.

So much for sexy.

His eyes are full of disdain. "Who's pet is this?" he demands.

I feel myself puff up defensively. "Alright, listen, _Guido_; I'm no one's _pet_."

He draws his head back from me in disgust. "She dares to talk to me like this?"

Optimus motions for him to calm down and Ironhide points a cannon at me. They all look severely pissed off; except for Optimus, who just looks tired.

"I should terminate you for this!" Ironhide snarls, jerking the cannon in my direction. "What were you _doing?_"

"I think," Sideswipe says slowly, "that she was trying to push me."

"Why would she be trying to push you?" Wheeljack, this time, sounding curious, if a little irritated.

"How should I know? She probably wanted to steal me for herself. That, or she was trying to cop a feel." He gives me a look. "Like what you see, huh? As much as I appreciate your attraction to me, I would prefer if you didn't try to make your advances on me while I'm _unconscious._ Autobots, too, believe in informed consent."

"I wasn't trying to rape you," I snap, feeling myself flush with humiliation. I glare at the three pranksters behind them; they've managed to quiet their laughter. I glance up at the taller bots, quailing in the wake of their fury. I should have known. They're all still hyped, probably having expected an attack of some sort; they're practically bristling. Optimus sighs.

"Did you need something, Parker?" he asks, his voice clearly tired.

"No," I mumble, and Mirage makes an irritated noise.

"Wait," Ironhide said darkly, "I want an explanation."

I can feel my face heating as they all look at me expectantly. Skids lets out a muffled snort, and a round of giggles bursts from the trio. I glare. This is the first time I've seen Optimus since he'd returned and, of course, I'd done it in the most humiliating way possible.

"Um," I say slowly. "I—slipped. And ran into Sideswipe." I'm not going to sell them out, not this time. I'm going to get them _back_. This definitely calls for revenge.

"You slipped," Ironhide echoes back in disbelief. "What are you even _doing_ down here?"

"Lennox wanted me to wash you guys, and—"

"Ah," Optimus says, nodding. "That's right. He mentioned it."

"I didn't realize you'd all be sleeping. Sorry."

"It's not your fault," Optimus says gently, "I doubt he suspected we'd be out for this long. It was a long trip."

"Sorry," I mumble.

The others all grumble, and I hear the word _stupid_ from Ironhide and duck my head. I'm so angry. I'm going to rip them apart!

"Control your little _beast_," Mirage spits at the twins and Bumblebee, who are trying unsuccessfully to stifle their giggles. Optimus gives Mirage a hard look as the Ferarri transforms; around me are the sounds of more transforming as they all settle back into their places. Optimus gets down on one knee in front of me, tucking a finger under my chin, seemingly oblivious to the others around him.

"It is good to see you," he says gently.

"The reunion could have been better," I mumble, and he gives a tired chuckle. "Missed you."

"I missed you, too," he says, and the exhaustion in his voice makes _me_ tired. I pat his finger.

"Get some sleep, E.T."

"E.T.?"

"Yeah, you know, extraterrestrial? E.T. phone home? You're an alien. Get it?"

He gives me an affectionate smile, stroking my face gently with the back of his finger. I rub it gently before pushing it away. "Sleep," I tell him, and he transforms, backing into his spot. I wait a moment before turning away from him and stalking over to the twins and Bumblebee.

"You!" I hiss at Bumblebee. "You weren't _asleep!_ You were in on it!"

Bumblebee holds his hands up innocently. I kick his foot, but probably hurt my own foot in the process more than I hurt his.

"Dat was a good one, though," Skids laughs, poking me. I give him a deadly look and all three transform back into their car forms simultaneously.

"Cowards," I growl, though I can't help but be a little awed. They'd managed to put that together at the last second, making it up as they went. They'd had no time to plan or discuss, and Bumblebee had played into it perfectly when he'd let me roll him.

Asses. All of them. They are going to pay.

I kick each one of them in turn and only get quiet laughs and whirrs. I fold my arms over my chest and walk away from them, bored now that I have no cars to wash, and make my way outside. I realize I'm a little disappointed that Optimus didn't notice my haircut, but I tell myself I shouldn't have expected otherwise; he's an alien leader, after all. He has better things to do.

I've nearly made it outside when he calls my name, his deep voice rumbling gently through the hangar, edged with tiredness. I turn on my heel to glance at him; he pops the driver's side door open and I take the signal, walking back and climbing in, closing the door gently behind me. It's warm inside the cabin, and I curl up on his seat.

We're quiet for a while, and I wonder if he's passed out. But then he cranks the seat back so that I can lie down; I roll over onto my side, resting my head on my arm.

"Ignore Mirage," he says after a while. "He doesn't have the same soft spot for humans as the rest of us."

"It's fine," I say softly, urged by Optimus's clear exhaustion into hushed tones.

"You cut your hair."

My heart soars, and I smile, biting my lower lip. "I did."

"It looks lovely on you," he says, then hesitates before adding, "I like the coloring."

"Me too. It was a surprise."

A low, tired chuckle. "You're obviously more confident."

"It's because of the cut," I whisper. "It's a girl thing, I guess, but the right cut can do wonders for a girl's confidence. I feel beautiful again." I laugh softly to myself.

"You never stopped being beautiful," he murmurs. I smile again.

"Thanks," I breathe. I trail my fingers over the seat, and I swear the truck seems to tense before he makes a low rumbling sound, almost like a purr.

"Skids told me that feels good," I say absently. "Do you want me to stop? That's weird. Sorry."

"It's soothing," he says quietly. "You don't have to stop unless you want to." In other words, keep going, but he'll never say it. I continue petting the seat and he makes the soft sound again, the cabin rumbling just slightly. I smile and continue to stroke it for a while until the rumbling stops.

"Good night," I tell him, but get no response. He's already asleep.

* * *

><p><strong>NOTE: We'll get to Parker's feelings about the move later, but that's not what this chapter was about. Besides, Parker's the type to put things like that aside and not face them until she absolutely has to. She's sad to be leaving and annoyed that she has to live with Ronnie, but we'll get to that later. :)<strong>

**Hope you like it! Review? :D**


	29. Chapter 29

**NOTE: Thank you all for your patience and the wonderful reviews! Sorry this took so horribly long! I've been busy and,a s a result, inspiration was slow to hit. To make up for it, I decided to bring OP and Parker a little **_**closer**_** in this chapter, if you know what I mean. There's sort of a big milestone for them here. Also, this is just a SUPER HAPPY, fun, blissful chapter. Parker needs it before she leaves. Enjoy!**

**PS THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT SORT OF: **_**I really**_** recommend you look up and listen to the song **_**100 suns by 30 seconds to mars **_**while it's playing in the chapter. Please do that for me so you get the general feel! I rewrote this chapter like 1237107328732 times. GRR. **

**IGNORE THE TYPOS OKAY.**

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 29<span>

So when it comes right down to it, I have three days left at base. Three days left with my brother, with Lennox. Three days with the twins (who I'm still plotting revenge against). Three days with Optimus. None of us have talked much about the inevitable, mostly, I assume, because we don't want to sully our time together with sad conversation.

Tonight, though, I feel like it can't be avoided. I'm pretty sure we're all thinking about it, and everyone's unusually quiet outside. I'm finally washing the cars that had been neglected since their mission, and I'm working on Optimus now, having finished the others. I finish drying his hood quietly, snapping him playfully with the towel to signal that I'm finished. He, Bumblebee, and the twins are outside with me. The three of them have been playing music as I've been working—decidedly happy, cheerful music, I've noticed. And the twins have sensed my sad mood; I can't hide it from anyone, it seems.

I'm getting that feeling again, that trapped, closed-in, helpless feeling. The last time I'd felt this way, Optimus and I had run off, and he'd taken me to see the stars. I feel much more restless this time, out of control. I have to leave, and there's _nothing_ I can do about it. Part of me wants to scream; part of me wants to cry; most of me, though, just wants to run away.

I pull away from Optimus and turn toward the twins and Bumblebee, who are calling me. Skids activates his holographic human self, wearing the same ensemble as he has been at the mall, and offers me a hand.

"Dance wit me," he says, a goofy grin on his face. I place my hand in his, sure confusion is written on my face.

"Dance with you," I echo, "what do you—_Ahh!_"

I let out a sharp yelp as, laughing, he spins me into his body, locking me against him with a strong arm around my waist. An instant later I'm being flung backward, nearly doing a backbend, before he whips me back up, nuzzling my face. And, just like that, I'm laughing, lightheaded, heart pounding.

"Whoa," I gasp, "where'd you learn _that?"_

"Internet," Mudflap answers for him.

"Yo, Bee!" Skids calls, "Music!"

And Bumblebee starts playing music. I laugh as I'm swept around like a doll, bouncing up and down with them. We toss our hair, spin each other around, flailing ridiculously to the pulsing, techno beat Bumblebee is playing.

"_Cause every time we touch I get this feeling,  
>And every time we kiss I swear I can fly…"<em>

I'm laughing, my heart pounding as we dance. When the song ends, Skids grabs me and Bumblebee starts playing _Wake Me Up Before You Go Go_ by Wham! which is one of the many old songs my brother and I had danced to. Skids and I swing dance, and the three of us do a lot of snapping, clapping, and swinging.

The song changes to _Jump, Jive, And Wail_ by Brian Setzer—another old song. We continue our old style dancing, and the twins are actually good. We sing along, and things really get wild as Bumblebee plays _Rockafeller Skank_ by Fatboy Slim. Once we finish _Get Low_, by Lil John, I'm breathless from exertion.

I loop my arms around Mudflap's neck as he lifts me and spins me in a circle, then dips me back. Exhausted, the three of us stumble back, laughing together, collapsing against Bumblebee's warm hood. I rest my head on Mudflap's shoulder, and Skids rest his head on my stomach, looking up at me with a goofy smile. I ruffle his hair and he leans into my hand like a cat.

We just lay there together, me panting. They're not as tired, considering they're not weak and human, like me. Mudflap plays with my hair as I stare up at the sky, letting the cool breeze soothe my overheated body. We don't say anything for a while, and instead just lay together, enjoying what might be our last night like this. I shut the thought away, closing my eyes, refusing to believe it. I'm having too much fun now to think about this. I lace my fingers with Mudflap's and Skids's, seeking comfort, asking them to tell me, somehow, that this won't be my last real night with them.

Optimus, I notice, hasn't moved or spoken almost all night, which I find strange. Something is definitely wrong; he hasn't so much as said a word to me since my screw up with them two nights ago. I rap my fingers against Bumblebee's hood to get his attention.

"Hey," I ask softly. "What's wrong with Optimus?"

"_Heavy is the head that wears the crown,  
>Don't let the greatness get you down…"<em>

I recognize the Katy Perry song, but quirk my head to the side. "What do you mean? Did something happen?"

"Yeah," Skids scoffs, "_you_ happened, Roadkill." I give him a look, and he holds his hands up innocently. I tug his hair resentfully and he yelps. "I'm just sayin'," he says, lowering his voice, "Boss nearly flipped a bitch when he heard you was leavin'. Ain't dat right, Mudflap?"

"Dat's right," Mudflap says, and I turn my head against his shoulder to get a better look at him. "He wasn't too happy bout dat."

"Oh."

"I think," Skids says, his voice secretive, "he likes you."

"Of course he likes me," I snort, trying to make light of the situation. "What's not to like?"

"_I can think of a few things,"_ Bumblebee says from beneath me, stealing a sarcastic line from a movie.

"Jerk."

"Anyways," Skids says, sitting up and grabbing my hand, determined not to linger on the subject of my inevitable departure. "Ready fo' mo'?"

I groan but smile, allowing him to lead me back onto the concrete. Mudflap leaps off of Bumblebee's hood, and Bumblebee starts playing slow music. Skids loops his arms around my waist, and I wrap my arms around his shoulders, and we dance a slow dance together before Skids spins me into Mudflap's arms. I laugh as he leads me through a ridiculous tango—complete with appropriate music, courtesy of Bumblebee.

After the tango the pace picks up again, and we dance and laugh until I'm breathless and my head is spinning and I can't do anything but smile. I understand, now, why the lyric _dance until we die _is popular in so many songs. There's no room left in my head for sad thoughts. I can sense, though, that my time is almost up, and we've somehow drawn closer to Optimus. The twins exchange a mischievous look. Skids steals me from his brother's arms, swoops me around, and spins me, sending me spiraling toward Optimus with such force that I collide with him.

"Oof," I gasp, "sorry." The twins' holoforms have dissipated when I look back at them, panting; they're in their bipedal forms, watching me with dopey grins. Skids motions at Optimus, and I give him a weird look. I rub Optimus's hood gently. "Hi," I tell him softly, and he transforms, kneeling down in front of me. I smile at him. "Haven't seen much of you lately," I say, "you been avoiding me?"

"Of course not," he says, but he sounds distant. "I've been busy."

"Liar." His eyes focus over my shoulder, and I glance back; Mudflap and Skids are giving us a huge thumbs up. I roll my eyes and Optimus makes an uncomfortable sound. Skids gives a loud, conspicuous cough. I know what they want; Mudflap is dancing and twirling with an invisible partner. I can't help but laugh at him, shaking my head. _Real subtle._ I offer Optimus my hand. "Want to dance?" I ask, keeping my voice light and playful.

"I don't—"

"Come on," I sigh, "it won't kill you."

"It very well might," he says pointedly.

"You'll survive," I tell him. "Come on, indulge me this once." He hesitates and I roll my eyes. "Give me your hand."

He balances his weight, squatting with one elbow on one knee; he extends his other hand to me, and I grab onto it, pulling it close to my face. "I'm gonna miss you, you know," I tell him gently, but don't give him the chance to respond. Instead, I grab his index finger and his thumb in each hand, holding them something like I would hold a dancing partner; his huge palm is facing me, so that he could easily curl his fingers around me if he wanted to.

"There," I say, beaming up at him. "Now all we need is music." I give Bumblebee a look and he drives closer with the twins, who are both in their Chevy forms. Bumblebee plays music, but it's not at all what I'd been expecting:

"_The word's on the street and it's on the news:  
>I'm not gonna teach him how to dance with you.<br>He's got two left feet and he bites my moves.  
>I'm not gonna teach him how to—<br>Dance! Dance! Dance! Dance!"_

I start laughing as the three of them drive away, leaving us alone. "He's such a brat," I laugh, glancing up at Optimus, who actually looks embarrassed with me standing there, holding his fingers. "You can play music, right?"

"Yes."

"Okay," I say, thinking of a song to play. I want a short one—slow, too, and one that's not awkward or cheesy. "Can you find the song… um… _100 suns_ by 30 Seconds to Mars?"

He nods slowly and I smile; the song is beautiful, and less than two minutes long; slow, and not at all corny or cheesy. It's not _ideal_, considering it's not particularly made for dancing to, but it'll work. I rub his thumb gently, almost soothingly, but I can't wipe the smile off of my face. He watches me for a moment, seems to relax, and then the song drifts to my ears, soft and gentle, nothing more than the sounds of a guitar and a human voice.

"_I believe in nothing; not the end and not the start.  
>I believe in nothing; not the earth and not the stars."<em>

I step slowly, guiding his fingers with me, smiling the whole time. I really don't do much more than sway, and he doesn't take his eyes off of me once.

"_I believe in nothing; not the day and not the dark.  
>I believe in nothing but the beating of our hearts."<em>

I reach up and grab his middle finger, my arm stretched above my head and I twirl, leaning into his pinky, which has curled slightly inward to support my weight. He leans his index down and I grab it, and he helps twirl me again, catching me with his thumb and cupping me against his palm.

"_I believe in nothing, 100 suns until we part.  
>I believe in nothing; not in sin and not in God."<em>

He seems to have relaxed now, and the song is nearly over. I pull back, still holding his finger before stepping in again and spinning so that my back is to his palm and his middle finger is down over my chest. He curls his fingers in just slightly, brushing against my body before allowing me to press away.

"_I believe in nothing, not in peace and not in war.  
>I believe in nothing but the truth in who we are."<em>

As the last verse ends I give one final spin, giving him my weight and leaning back; he keeps me steady, his fingers lined up against my back, and I lean back so far that my hand nearly brushes the ground above my head before he presses me back up again. When I look at him, I notice that his eyes are nearly shut, only a soft, faint blue glow visible. I wrap my arms around his thumb as he opens his eyes and looks at me. Without warning, he scoops me up, taking my legs out from beneath me so that I'm sitting on his hand. Still crouched down, he brings me very close to his face.

I gather my feet beneath me and lean in close, pressing my palm to his forehead as always, giving him his planet's equivalent of a hug.

"Thank you," I breathe, and he makes a low rumbling noise in response. I pull my hand away and for just a moment we watch each other, and he looks conflicted. He lowers me very slightly so that we're perfectly at eye level, and we can't break eye contact. We're very close; close enough that his glowing eyes have turned my skin blue, close enough that I can feel the heat emanating from his metal. And all of a sudden my heart is _pounding_, and it's not from the dancing. Heat floods my body, and I feel lightheaded; my stomach flutters.

"Optimus," I breathe, and it sounds sort of like a question.

"Parker," he rumbles, and it sounds sort of like an answer.

His eyes flick up and down, and that's all there is. The next moment he's leaning in toward me, and I automatically lean into him, and he presses his forehead against mine. I actually gasp and he closes his eyes; a moment later I close mine, leaning in to press more firmly against him, our heads bowed. It must look strange and awkward because of the size difference, but the meaning is still the same. I recall the conversation vaguely from what now seems like so long ago.

Forehead to forehead, he had told me, was the Cybertronian equivalent of kissing.

My heart stutters in my chest, and he stiffens slightly as I press my hands to his forehead as well. I don't know how long we're supposed to stay this way, but I _do_ know I won't be the first to pull away. It feels _good_—warm and electric, and I love being this close to him. I soak it in, my arms breaking out in delicious goosebumps.

And then he pulls away.

I stare silently up at him as he blinks a couple of times, looking uncertain. And then his face hardens, shutting me out.

"I'm sorry."

* * *

><p><em><span>Savannah<span>_

I'm leaning against a crate, watching them; my sister and Bumblebee and the twins, screwing around, dancing. It's clear that she's having fun, which is great because, lately, she's been moody. I know she doesn't want to leave, and I'm going to miss her. It's clear that the twins don't want her to go, either.

None of that bothers me, though. She loves Mudflap and Skids. Mudflap and Skids love her. Great. Fine.

What _does_ bother me as that Optimus Prime doesn't want her to leave, either. And I suspect his infatuation with her isn't as innocent as the twins'. Even now, he's parked a ways away from them, not close enough to be a part of their games, but not far enough to be with us, either. I don't know what his problem is, but I do know he's watching her, like he always is. I wonder if she's noticed it, the way he's always _watching_ her, with that _look_ on his face. It's only gotten worse since Barricade nearly killed her.

Ugh.

I try and push the irritated feelings away, instead laughing with the others as she tangos with Mudflap. They're strange, that much is for sure. And P is _not_ a good dancer. None of them seem to care, however, and neither do I. It's just good to see her laughing again as the twins whip her around like a doll. Eventually, she gets spun into Optimus, and it all goes downhill from there. The twins egg her on silently, and then I can only watch in horror as she grabs Optimus's fingers, curling and adjusting them to fit her body. The twins transform and they abandon her, Bumblebee following quickly after them.

She's alone.

With Optimus.

The three of them park next to me, Skids closest to me, Mudflap beside him, and Bumblebee furthest away. Skids revs his engine gently, drawing everyone's attention. I'm about to go out there and _murder_ Optimus Prime as she starts _dancing with him_ when Skids's radio comes to life, which only makes matters worse because he's playing that song from _The Lion King_. He and Mudflap are playing off against each other, taking on the voices of Timon and Pumbaa.

I think I'm going to die.

"_I can see what's happening."_

"_What?"_

"_And they don't have a clue."_

"_Who?"_

"_They'll fall in love and here's the bottom line: Our trio's down to two."_

"Shut _up_," I seethe. "That's not funny."

Sideswipe snickers. "It's kind of funny."

"It's _not_ funny!"

Timon, in the song, adopts a fake French accent. _"Ze sweet caress of twilight; there's magic everywhere. And with all this romantic atmosphere, disaster's in the air."_

And then their radios start belting out "_Can you feel the love tonight?"_ And they're giggling to each other, and Bumblebee is laughing, and Sideswipe is trying to stifle his laughter. Mirage makes a disgusted sound and drives away, and Ironhide groans. They all transform, crouching down to watch the scene better. She's still dancing with his hand, and they're oblivious to our watching eyes.

They stop dancing, then, and I watch as Parker leans back over his hand, looking _almost_ graceful.

"No, no, no, no," I keep saying. "_No._"

"What's up?" I jump; Lennox has crept up behind us, having noticed us all watching. In answer, Skids and Mudflap play the closing lines to the song, fudging the _he_ into a _she_.

"_And if she falls in love tonight, it can be assumed…"_

"_Her carefree days with us are history."_

"_In short out pal is doomed."_

Weeping noises and laughter fill the hangar as the song finishes and Optimus lifts Parker up to his face. Ironhide groans again.

"Don't do it," he urges, "don't do it, Prime."

"Do what?" Lennox and I ask in unison.

"He's gon' do it," Skids says excitedly. Bumblebee whistles.

"Uh-oh," Sideswipe says.

"What's going _on_?" I demand.

"Oh, man," Mudflap says, "he done it."

She's standing in his hand, her forehead pressed against his. At first it seems like nothing; and then I notice the slope of his huge, broad shoulders, the way he seems tense but not in a bad way. I realize the gesture must be far more intimate than it seems.

"What's that?" Lennox asks. "What're they doing?"

"Optimus and Parker, sitting in a tree," Skids starts.

"_K-I-S-S-I-N-G."_

"What?" They'd better be joking, but one look at me and they all start laughing. Ironhide just sighs, shaking his head.

"Why," he seems to ask the universe. "Of all the beings out there. Why _her?_"

"What about her?" I know I'm in denial, but this can't be happening. Please tell me this is all a big joke.

I watch as Optimus _finally_ pulls away from her. Lennox is laughing. He seems to have caught on more quickly than me. He reaches out and grips my shoulder, looking amused, giving me a slight shake.

"I'm going to kill him," I finally say, stepping away. I lunge out of the hangar. "I'm going to _kill him!_"

Skids catches me before I can get any further, though, laughing. I wiggle against him, and Lennox is nearly in tears from laughing so hard.

"Put me down! I'm going to kill him—how dare he—she's my _sister!_ She can do better than a _robot_—"

Ironhide snorts. "Please," he drawls, "that little beast will be lucky if she ever finds someone even fractionally as good as he is. _He_ can do better. He can find someone—or some_thing_ else. Perhaps one of your Earth dogs. I hear they're loyal, at least." I glare at him, and he smirks at me. "I don't like it, though," he sighs, and I'm relieved. "This means, if she has become the object of his affections, I must guard her as I would guard him."

Okay, so it's not a good sign if the only reason he disapproves is because he has to guard her. Honestly, he could have had better reasons. Like the difference in species, for instance.

"I think it's cute," Mudflap sighs.

"Yeah," Skids agrees.

"Cute," Mirage snarls from behind us. "It is disgusting."

"Shut up," Sideswipe tells him. "If Prime is happy, no one is to say a word against it. However, our job _is_ to protect him—even from himself. If, and _only if,_ she gives us reason to disapprove, we act."

"So I suppose working for Megatron isn't a reason to disapprove?" Ironhide growls. Sideswipe waves a hand at him, watching them out of the corner of his eye.

"That was in the past." Ironhide just snorts. "We'll keep an eye on her, Ironhide."

He rolls his shoulders. I'm seriously going to _kill someone_. Am I the only one freaking out? It looks like it. Lennox just looks amused.

"Can't say I didn't see it coming," he says, shaking his head.

"What do you mean?"

"She spent so much time with him," Lennox explains. "Even before she knew you were here. They snuck off, and she had him wrapped around her little finger. He wouldn't say no to her."

"I think that's a little extreme," Ironhide mutters resentfully.

"Uh, guys," Skids says, nodding toward the two in question. "Heads up. We got movement."

Sure enough, Prime has transformed, and Parker is climbing inside. A moment later, they're gone.

* * *

><p><em><span>Parker<span>_

"_I'm sorry."_

I just blink at him; he looks like he's reeling, desperate in some way. But I'm sorry? _That's_ what he decides to say? He just alien-kissed me, and he decides to say _I'm sorry?_ I must look confused, because he shakes his head slightly, not meeting my eyes.

"I shouldn't have—" he halts, looking deeply conflicted. He sighs. "Parker, you must understand—"

"I really don't think it's that complex," I snap, folding my arms. "You can put me down, now." His eyes flick to me for a moment before he places me gently on the ground. I glare up at him, hands on hips. "I knew it. Something's wrong. What's your deal?"

He heaves a heavy sigh, rubbing his forehead like he always does when he's uncomfortable. He seems to brace himself, his face going all determined. "I—made a mistake. Parker, we should not be friends. You understand that, don't you?"

"You're joking."

"I'm serious."

"What, pray tell, was your mistake?" I can't keep the scornful sarcasm from my voice, and I know he notices.

"Befriending you." I roll my eyes. "In three days, you will be leaving. We should end our friendship now, before either of us gets hurt."

"Oh," I say slowly, trying not to show the hurt that I'm already feeling. "I know what this is about."

"Parker," he sighs, crouching down close, "it's better this way, I assure you."

"Define better."

He gives me an annoyed look. "I'm ending our friendship," he says, "now."

"Good joke," I snort. "I'm going to make this really simple for you, because, somehow, you haven't seemed to be able to figure this out yet. You don't _get_ to end our _friendship_. Not like this."

"It's for your own good—"

"Hush. You _also_ don't get to tell me what's for my own good. I'm a big girl; I can make my own decisions."

We glare at each other for a moment, but there's no hostility behind his eyes. If anything, there's affection, though he's trying to hide it.

"You can't be my friend if I don't want you to be," he snaps, and I have to laugh at how childish it sounds. It's even funnier when he says it in his big, regal voice. He's clutching at straws, here.

"Sure, whatever you say," I growl. "What's the point, anyway? We have three days together. _Three_. Are you _trying_ to ruin them for me?"

He looks away from me sharply, and I know it. I was right. _That's_ what this is about. I'd never thought he was serious about ending our friendship, not with what the twins had told me about his reaction upon hearing that I was leaving. Especially not after he'd just Cybertron-kissed me. With a sigh, I reach forward and grab his hand. He looks down at me, but doesn't move his hand away.

"Come on," I murmur gently. "I know why you're doing this. But it's stupid." Another heavy sigh; he shifts his weight. A lump forms in my throat. "You suck," I tell him bitterly, punching his hand. "I was having _so much fun_, and then you just _had_ to go and ruin it, and _now_ I'm thinking about leaving, and _I don't want to go_—"

"I don't want you to go," he rumbles, and our eyes lock. I tremble and swallow thickly. I start shaking my head.

"Optimus," I whisper, rubbing his finger again. "This might be our last night together like this. Can you _please_ not make it suck? I kind of want to enjoy it."

He gives me a sad smile. "You're too stubborn for your own good."

"So we're friends, right? I'm not going to let you throw me away like this. That was a jerk move. _Especially_ since you kissed me." I grin at him.

"This is difficult for me, too."

"But you don't have to push me away and run from it, either."

"What do you suggest, then?" He sounds amused.

"Meet it head on," I say, "don't think about it, at least. But don't take the easy way out and _avoid_ me, or make half-assed attempts to end our friendship."

He nods. "I'm sorry," he says, "especially if I ruined your night."

"Only a little," I shrug, then give him a look. "I know how you can make it up to me, though."

"Do I want to know?"

"First, I want you to tell me we're still friends. I think you can figure the rest out." He does the first part, and I laugh, then gesture out into the darkness. He just stares at me, faking confusion. "Do I gotta spell it out for you?"

"Yes."

I tug his hand. "Let's pull an all-nighter," I urge, a huge smile consuming my face. "Let's run away. Tonight. Right now."

He glances over his shoulder at the others. They're staring at us. "But—"

"Whatever," I say. "Let them say what they want; I don't care. Come on, we've just got tonight. Let's leave it all behind. We're not going to live forever, you know."

He hesitates, but I can see I'm wearing him down. "Come with me," I plead, "just tonight. Give me just _one_ night with you—I want to spend it with _you_." I stare imploringly up at him, and he nods. I smile and back up as he transforms. A moment later, I'm pulling open his door, climbing in, and we're gone.

* * *

><p><strong>NOTE: We'll talk more about their kiss in the next chapter. I totally enjoyed writing this one, and the part where OP tried to end their friendship wrote itself. I imagined him as just having this <strong>_**oh, shit**_** moment, when he realizes he's acted on his feelings, but knows it's too late because they have no time together, so he tries to salvage that in the way he thinks is best—ending their friendship, so they don't have to say goodbye or address their feelings. But Parker knows better, calls him out, and he knows it was a sad attempt, and all is well. It wasn't anything too serious. He was just kind of desperate.**

**Make sense? We might talk about it more in the next chapter. Oh, and the song Bumblebee played at OP was **_**I'm not gonna teach your boyfriend how to dance by the Black Kids.**_

**Feedback, please! Reviews?**


	30. Chapter 30

**NOTE: YAY I LOVE THIS CHAPTER. And also: WARNING: there is a lot of music in this chapter, because: it was inspired by many songs, there's a definite wild, carefree feel to this chapter, and also because the songs help Parker understand what's on OP's mind. You'll see. FUNNIES.**

**Also, keep in mind that these two are sort of high on life right now, and going on the idea that they might not ever have this moment again. Yay for no inhibitions!**

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 30<span>

"Do you have GPS?"

"Yes."

"…turn it off."

"As you wish."

"Is it off?"

"It is."

"So you don't know where we are?"

"Not exactly, no."

"So, potentially, we could get lost."

"Potentially," he chuckles, and I grin, practically wriggling in the passenger seat.

"Perfect." I don't want to know where we are. I'm hoping to get lost, honestly; sometimes the best adventures happen when you're lost. Tonight, there will be no rules, no plans, no maps. We're going to do everything on impulse, without a second thought. What do we have to lose, really? _Nothing_. Electricity sparks the air; there's a sudden bright blue flash and I whirl around; Optimus the man is sitting in the driver's seat, watching me with the most mischievous smile I've ever seen him wear. It looks good on him.

"Okay, okay," I say urgently around a smile, leaning in toward him; he mirrors my actions, leaning toward me, not focusing on the road. His eyes are bright, his smile nearly a full-on smirk. "So, here are the rules."

"Rules?" He echoes, quirking an eyebrow at me.

"Yes, rules," I reply. "And rule number one—there _are_ no rules." His smile deepens. "Anything goes. We're going to have fun, _got_ _it_? You don't have to be a serious leader. You get to be bad, for once. Irresponsible. That's another rule: _Optimus has to be irresponsible, and he has to have fun._"

Now I'm _sure_ he's smirking. "You're a bad influence," he tells me.

"The worst," I confirm, leaning away from him and stretching back on the seat, arms above my head. "Think you can handle it?"

"I desperately hope so," he rumbles, and I give him a teasing smile. He heaves a heavy sigh, but I can tell he doesn't mean it. "This is going to be a long night."

"This is going to be a _fantastic_ night," I growl. "We're going to enjoy ourselves, whether you like it or not."

"Have mercy."

"Not a chance." He laughs, and I laugh, and he starts playing music—happy, wild music, the sort of music people write specifically for nights like these.

"Thank you," I tell him, and he looks at me, his eyes warm and open, no walls in place. "For tonight."

"Don't thank me yet," he says gently, and I roll my eyes.

"It's going to be perfect, I know it."

I look away from him, but I can feel his eyes lingering on me, and I bite down on my lower lip to keep from smiling. I remember our alien-kiss from earlier, and bite down even _harder_. Part of me is telling myself to get over it, that it didn't mean anything, but the other part of me is desperately hoping that it _did_ mean something; the way he's looking at me now confirms it.

"Hey," I say, glancing on him. "You don't have to look at the road?"

"Of course not," he scoffs.

"Hm," I say, the run my nails over the seat. He doesn't respond. "Did you feel that?"

He shrugs. "Numbly, faintly," he says, "but for the moment, I've focused most of my sense of touch within the holoform."

"Oh," I say.

"I want to apologize," he says, folding his legs beneath him on the seat and turning to face me. I give him a confused look. "For earlier," he clarifies. "What I did—I was being a coward, and you need to know that I'm sorry. You did not deserve that."

I smile again. "Yeah, well, lucky for you I didn't really believe you," I shrug. "Anyways, you don't get to kick me to the curb that easily. What was that about, anyway?"

His face grows serious, and he doesn't meet my eyes. I take the opportunity to scan him, letting my eyes rove freely over his body; the same blue eyes and strong jawline, the same straight nose, with the angular eyes and dark eyebrows. His hair is still army short, slightly longer on top, and his face is smooth, without stubble. He's wearing jeans and a royal blue zip-up sweatshirt now with a red shirt underneath, though, as opposed to his military uniform. Finally, he meets my eyes again, and I can't bring myself to care that I've been caught starting. I grin.

"I was being a coward," he says again, his tone firm and serious. "I've lost many friends in this war; saying goodbye has never been one of my strong suits, not internally. I didn't—I didn't want to have to say goodbye to you, too." He pauses for a moment, looking away from me and then back again. "And you were right—I _was_ avoiding you, hoping, I suppose, to wean myself, in a sense. I thought it would be easier." He meets my eyes. "I was wrong." A sigh. "To be perfectly honest, I thought I would be able to do it—but I should have known you wouldn't make things simple."

"Nope," I say softly, still grinning. "Have I ever made things simple?"

"No," he says with a gentle smile, running a hand through his hair. "And then you _had_ to dance with me, of course. And I couldn't say no—"

"Naturally," I say with a roll of my eyes, and he chuckles, the sound skittering down my spine.

"And after that… well, you know what happened."

"You robo-kissed me," I say. He seems to appreciate the small joke, nodding.

"I should apologize for that as well," he says, and I give him a disbelieving look. "Not for the—the 'kiss'—not for the action itself, but for the _way_ I did it. I shouldn't have surprised you like that—I normally don't—_behave _in such a way, but I was… caught up. I wasn't thinking clearly." His voice is hesitant, almost embarrassed, but I can't help but feel relieved. He's not apologizing for the kiss; he's apologizing for the way it had happened.

"Don't apologize," I assure him. "That's my favorite side of you, the unpredictable side, when you don't think too much. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, right? That's what I always say."

"You _never_ say that," he says, giving me a look.

"Hush," I grouch. "That's another rule tonight—ask forgiveness, not permission. Stop _thinking_." I give him a teasing smile. "And…" I actually hesitate, my body suddenly feeling much warmer. "You know, I don't mind that you kissed me. Like… _at all_."

I meet his eyes shyly, and now _he's_ smiling. And it's so strange, seeing his human face so bold, so _not_ serious, and I love it. "Good to know," he says in his deep voice, and my stomach flutters.

Feeling giddy and lightheaded, he lets me roll down the windows and stretch out on the seat again, singing along to the music. For a while we don't say much, instead just enjoying being near each other. That is, until the song _Save the World_ by Swedish House Mafia comes on, and I nearly have a heart attack.

"Optimus!" I gasp, "This _song!_" He looks alarmed, can't seem to understand my gigantic smile, my excitement. He opens his mouth, but I shush him. "Listen to it," I tell him. "It reminds me of you. Of the Autobots, in a way." He looks puzzled, but he listens.

"_Who's gonna save the world tonight?  
>Who's gonna bring you back to life?<br>We're gonna make it, you and I;  
>We're gonna save the world tonight."<em>

I sing along to the "oh, oh, oh's" my heart soaring, feeling elated. I love this song; something about it makes me want to cry. Maybe it's the way I've connected it to the Autobots, maybe not. I don't know. All I know is that it takes my breath away.

"_We're far from home; it's for the better.  
>What we dream, it's all that matters.<br>We're on our way, united."_

I jump as a static shock zaps the back of my hand. Looking down, I realize Optimus has curled his fingers around it, watching me carefully through his intensely glowing blue eyes. I lace my fingers through his.

"_Turn the crowd up now, we'll never back down.  
>Shoot down a skyline, watch it on primetime.<br>Turn up the love now, listen up now, turn up the love._

_Who's gonna save the world tonight?"_

The song goes on, and we're still holding hands. Eventually it ends and another song takes its place. I shrug softly.

"I don't know why," I tell him. "I mean, obviously the song has nothing to do with robots. Or aliens. But whenever I hear it, I think of you. Maybe it's the general message I get out of it. I don't know."

"You're babbling," he tells me gently, stroking his fingers against mine. I swallow. "You told me once you only babble when you're nervous or excited. Which is it?"

"Both," I breathe, tracing soft patterns on his skin. I look up from our hands and into his eyes and find him already watching me.

I don't know where we are, now, and I don't care. I don't think he knows or cares, either. All I know is that it's just us. There's no one else around, and I feel like we're the last two people (well, person and robot) left on the planet. It's incredible. I'm never going to forget this night for as long as I live.

I start slightly when I feel his fingers brush my jaw; his fingers trail against it as I turn my head to face him, and he slowly removes his hand, still driving. "What are you thinking about?"

And I tell him; there's a no barriers tonight, no secrets. "I'm thinking it's like we're the last two people in existence," I reply. "And I'm thinking I'm never going to forget this."

He makes a soft, understanding noise in response. A thought occurs to me and I regard his holographic self.

"How much do you feel right now?" I ask him, nodding at his body.

"Everything," he says. "As much as a human, I think; much more than an Autobot."

"Is it weird for you?"

"Sometimes," he says softly. "This body—it's not _me._"

"Why are you using it, then?"

He hesitates. No secrets. "To be closer to you."

"Oh," I say, squeezing his hand.

"I'm abusing it, I suppose," he adds in afterthought. "It wasn't meant for these purposes." Then he shrugs. "Mudflap and Skids seem to enjoy using it around you, too."

"They like to touch," I say. "They _love_ the feeling."

"I can see why," he says in a gravelly voice, and I'm suddenly very warm.

"I dunno," I say softly after a moment. "I feel kind of bad."

"Why?"

"Well, it's not _you_," I explain. "Not really. It's an illusion."

He gives me a long look before reaching forward and cupping my jaw in his hand again, gently stroking the skin there. I get chills. "Don't." I blink at him. "Don't think about it that way. If we didn't want to use them, we wouldn't. Trust me."

"I still feel weird," I say, shrugging. "I know I probably shouldn't, but. I don't know. I'm just guilty, I guess, because the _real_ you isn't getting any attention when you're like this, and I like the _real_ you best, you know?"

"Do you?" He looks startled, then adds, "You're babbling again."

I glare at him. "Of course I do."

"Hmm." He looks thoughtful.

I curl my thumb in, tucking it between our hands, which are still laced together. I trail soft circles on his palm with my fingernail, and the radio stutters.

"_Throw it away, forget yesterday, we'll make the great escape—  
>The great escape—great es-escape—<em>

_You make my teeth clench, and my hands shake,  
>Do you ever see what you do to me?<br>You're wearing me out, just wearing me out,  
>But I'm wearing you down."<em>

I listen carefully to the lyrics, having stuttered from _The Great Escape_ to _Impossible_, a song by Anberlin. I slow smile creeps over my face, and he looks flustered; for the first time I realize we haven't been listening to a radio station. Rather, he's been supplying the perfect music, and I wonder how that works.

"So, what's the deal with your radio?"

He clears his throat awkwardly as the song continues _("What I can do to you, it's wearing me thin. Can I begin to wear you out?")_ and I laugh. Finally he just shuts it off, looking embarrassed. I prod him and he sighs.

"I _can_ control it," he says sheepishly. "But it's normally easier just to let it play. Generally, if we're relaxed enough, the songs that play reflect what we're thinking, or our moods."

"How fun!"

"It can be embarrassing. There's a reason we generally keep our radios _off._"

"Is that what Bumblebee does?" I think back to all the times I'd been driving with Mudflap and Skids; the music had always been so _happy_. I smile.

"Bumblebee, because of his lack of voice, is most in tune with the process. He's better at it."

"I see." I stop tracing the circles. "You can turn it back on."

He takes a moment, and then he does. The song has changed. I look out the window again, taking everything in; it's completely dark out; we're lost on a road somewhere, and I realize that all the random turns have taken us somewhere far from civilization, which is perfect. Originally, I'd considered taking him on a tour of D.C., but this is much better.

"Pull over," I tell him. "Let's stop here."

He pulls over; there's a massive stretch of water before us, dark and glistening. In the far distance, I see lights; I realize it has to be the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. We're far away; it's nothing more than a glowing silhouette. The sky is dark, scattered with stars. I look at him.

"Transform," I tell him. "There's no one around, and I want to be with _you_."

He nods, squeezes my hand, and then releases it. I climb out, and once I'm a safe distance away, he transforms, following me down the shallow slopes to the water's edge, where I sit, curling my legs beneath me. He crouches beside me and we sit for a moment in silence. I rub my hand against his gigantic foot, listening to the wild night sounds; crickets chirping, the wind stirring my hair, the water lapping gently in the distance. I sigh and stand. The terrible thing about silence, as nice as it is, is that it gives you time to think. Without the music, without his voice to distract me, I'm thinking again.

I stand up restlessly, stuffing my hands in my sweatshirt pockets and hunching my shoulders against the icy, biting breeze. It stings my cheeks, nips at my nose, and a fine tremble racks me body. Wearing shorts had been a stupid idea.

Because I can't stand to just _sit_ here with my thoughts, I start walking, hoping he'll follow. Metal groans as he shifts and stands, walking silently behind me; I almost laugh when I look down, watching as his footprints engulf and obliterate mine, stirring up and leaving deep grooves in the dark earth—earth that I can only see because of the brightness of the moon and the clarity of the stars above us. My vision isn't clear, but I'm not blind, either. I throw my head back, pushing my bangs out of my face, to stare at the stars.

I can feel his eyes on me, but he must sense my inner turmoil; he doesn't speak. With an angry sigh I reach down and pick up a rock, one that fits in my palm. I turn to face the water, back up a couple of steps, and then launch it out into the water as hard as I can. It helps release some of the tension, honestly, so I do it again, listening to the soft _splash_ it makes. And then I spin around to face him, finding his face gentle and open, if a little sad. I offer him a sad smile; I know we're both thinking about it.

Without saying a word I hold one hand out. He understands; he reaches for me, scooping me up gently, cupping me against his warm chest. I rest my face against the metal and close my eyes as his fingers brush against my body, trailing over my spine. I press my body against him and stretch my arms out in a sort of hug, though I can't really grip him. After a few moment of this he lets loose a heavy sigh. He draws me away from his chest and I remain standing in his hand, putting on a brave face. He brings me close to his face and I reach a hand out, rubbing it just above his eye.

"My greatest regret in all of this," he says slowly, his voice unusually deep, "is waiting so long to take this time with you. We should have had more nights like these, you and I."

"Better late than never," I say, trailing my fingers over his face. He closes his eyes.

"Hardly," he murmurs, leaning in to my touch. "Parker, I should tell you—perhaps it is _unfair_ to tell you now that you're leaving, but—"

"Ask forgiveness," I say softly, "not permission."

He nods, opening his eyes to stare into mine. My skin is blue again. "The way I feel about you—it's unlike anything I've felt before; it runs deeper than what I feel for anyone else. I'm not—_used_ to the feeling, and to be perfectly honest it's—frightening. But I want you to know that I do care very deeply for you, and I want nothing more than keeping you at my side."

He looks uncomfortable, but I smile at him, running my hand along his cheek. "I just wish we had more time. I was a fool for thinking that this day wouldn't come, and now I am paying the price."

"We still have tonight," I reason gently.

"It's not enough," he says, shaking his head. "If I had my way, I would keep you here. As it is—"

"It's not fair," I agree, placing my hands on his mouth to silence him. He watches me carefully. "It's not. And God knows I don't want to go." My voice breaks and I fight against the hitch in my breathing. I stroke the tips of my fingers back and forth over his lower lip, and his eyes slide closed. He sighs. "But we can't change that. And I don't want to spend tonight being sad about it, you know? I want to spend it with you." I swallow back my tears as he lifts his other hand, gently tracing the end of one finger over my cheek and side, rubbing his knuckle gently against me.

"So here's the question you need to answer, Optimus Prime." When I say his name, his eyes flick up to watch me, something intense burning in their depths. "If tonight is all we have, then the only thing left to decide is: What are you going to do with it?"

"Anything you want," he rumbles gently, and I smile.

"What do _you_ want?"

He doesn't answer immediately. Instead he lifts me higher, cautioning me with his eyes, before leaning in slightly. I meet him halfway, eagerly, my heart stopping as I lean my forehead into his; our second kiss of the night. I smile as he lets out a soft breath. Our eyes are closed as I lean in closer to him; he shifts, slightly, turning his head the tiniest bit so that my skin rubs against his metal. He brings his free hand up and cups it around my body, shielding me from the outside world so that it's just us in this moment.

"I want," he rumbles, his voice full of emotion, "to spend this night with you. That is all."

I smile and nuzzle his forehead. Still pressed against him, I ask, "Is there a method to this?" I keep my voice quiet; it's trembling.

"If we were the same size, there would be more movement." That explains why he'd turned his head slightly. Desperate not to be considered a bad kisser by his standards, I shift against him.

"Show me," I whisper, and it comes out like a plea. "Please."

He does. It's difficult, but it basically comes down to an affectionate cuddling action, the friction of our foreheads pressed against each other. He makes a soft noise as I get better—at least, I hope I'm getting better. To (hopefully) add to the pleasurable feeling, I stroke my hands over the rest of the space, the parts I'm not filling. He seems to tremble; his hands twitch minutely, and then we separate.

In all honestly, I'm a little annoyed at myself, even though I know I can't help the fact that I'm only around one-fifth of his size. Still; I wish I could have done better for him, though he doesn't seem to be complaining. He tucks one finger under my chin, his thumb brushing over my forehead.

"I'll get better at that," I tell him playfully, though I can't hide the shake in my voice or the heat in my cheeks. "Practice makes perfect."

* * *

><p><strong>NOTE: That was so fun to write! Next chapter will include more fluff (you guys are going to be on fluff overload, let me tell you) and more kissing. Also, more music (maybe. It'll be funny, though!) and OP is gonna get a lesson in some more <strong>_**human**_** customs. *winkwink***

**Reviews = faster updates. Just sayin. :D**


	31. Chapter 31

**NOTE: Too much fluff aaahhh… but think about it. If it was your last night with the one person you can't get enough of, you'd enjoy it. Right? Things will get more serious next chapter. Also, I like to think that OP's younger self comes out in this chapter, when they're running (you'll see what I mean.) I thought to myself—if OP was on his home planet, and he was just a young little guy hanging out with a ladyfriend, what would they do in this situation? And that was the result. :D**

**I LOVE THIS CHAPTER OMG.**

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 31<span>

"Do you ever think about how it was in the beginning? You and me, I mean."

"Daily," he replies. We'd spent the last couple of hours together with him in his robot form, me perched on his shoulder. Occasionally, he'd run a finger fondly over my body, or I'd rub my hands over his face; it's really the best we can do, considering the massive difference in size. In all honesty, I _do_ appreciate the holoform. But _this_—I feel less guilty about this, for some reason. I sigh and lean my forehead against his cheek, and he shifts his shoulder, tucking me closer.

He's sitting by the edge of the water, close enough to touch it. We're facing the bridge, watching the lights and the stars. We'd been talking, laughing, just _enjoying_ each other for what I'm sure is the last time.

"Daily," I echo softly. "Me, too. It's crazy, isn't it?"

"Fate," he says, "is rarely easy to understand."

"Tell me about it," I murmur, pressing more closely to him and closing my eyes. Here in the nook of his shoulder, I'm sheltered from the wind, tucked up in my own private little world, warm and close to him. It's incredible, really, when I think about it. It's difficult actually to think about how much I had _hated_ him in the beginning. I'd wanted to kill him with my bare hands. I'd wanted to cause him so much pain and suffering. And now here I am, cuddled against him, settled easily on his shoulder, a place that has come to be the safest place in my world, a place that, in some ways, feels more like home than any other. Forget causing him pain—a thought that makes my heart break, now—I would give anything to protect him, to keep him safe. Something I'm still determined to do, when the time comes, should Megatron ever try to get his hands on me again.

No. I will not allow _anything_ to happen to him. Not ever.

"Are you tired?"

"No," I say firmly. "Not at all. I'm not going to sleep Optimus, not tonight. I'm not gonna waste a single _second_. Sleep is for the weak."

He chuckles, reaching up to rub his hand against me. I trace my fingers briefly against his.

"I am going to miss this," he confesses lowly, turning his face slightly to meet my eyes. I give a sad little sigh.

"Me, too," I murmur. "After I go… will I ever see you again? I don't want to be like Sam and Bumblebee. I see how sad Bumblebee is—I don't want that."

"I never fully understood Bumblebee's attachment to Sam," Optimus muses. "I understood that he saw him as a brother, of course. I _thought_ I understood it. But now I realize that keeping them separate for so long is cruel." He's silent for a moment, thoughtfully. "I don't know if there's anything that can be done," he says quietly after a moment. "You've lived with us; you understand how difficult it is for us to leave base, especially to visit our human companions—"

"I get it," I assure him gently, swallowing the iron lump in my throat. "Realistically, I won't see you—_any_ of you—again, once I leave."

"There is always that potential."

"Well, then," I say. I'm determined not to beg him to let me stay. I know there's nothing he can do, or he would have done it. I don't want to make it harder on him. "I guess I'll have to figure something out for myself, then, won't I?"

This earns a soft, sad laugh. "I have faith in you," he says affectionately. "If anyone can figure out a way to break the rules, it is you."

"Thanks," I laugh.

"I wish there was something I could do."

"Don't," I tell him softly. "Don't worry about it, okay? I know you're stuck. And honestly, I'm not surprised. If _Sam_ isn't allowed on base with you guys—and he _saved the world_—it's completely ridiculous to expect that _I_ would be allowed."

He shakes his head determinedly. "There must be a way around this."

"_What?_" I gasp around a grin. "What's this? _Optimus Prime_, thinking about breaking the rules?"

"For you? I'd consider it. Especially considering how foolish this particular rule is."

I let out a full laugh this time, squeezing the metal on his shoulder affectionately. "You're the best, you know that?"

He smirks. "I've been told." I laugh again, swatting his shoulder playfully with my hand, causing him to release an amused chuckle. Together, we stare out at the sky. Dread grips my heart as I realize that, far, far in the distance, the sky is lightening, just slightly. It's still plenty dark, but the sight takes my breath away, makes me want to cry.

"Optimus," I whisper, nodding toward the sky. "What happens when the sun comes up?"

I'm reminded of all the fairytales I'd read and watched as a child, and I know the answer: When the sun comes up, the spell breaks. When the sun comes up, life goes on.

A low rumble starts in his chest as I close my eyes against the sharp prickling sensation. "When the sun comes up," he says, "we'll go back." I don't answer. I don't want the magic of this night to be over. He gives me a reassuring stroke, his finger gentle and warm against my cheek. I lean into it, pressing my lips carefully against it, caught up in the gripping longing sensation twisting at my heart. _Please don't let it end_. His eyes linger on me for a moment as I pull away from his finger, and there's an edge to his voice when he speaks.

"We still have time," he rumbles, and he sounds _almost_ desperate—desperate, but contained. "There's still time."

Time, but not much. When the sun starts to rise, it's only a matter of time. The sun rises quickly. But, I tell myself, it's fine. The sky isn't even pink yet. Just—not as black as it is above and behind us. The desperation and sadness that grips me is unlike anything else. _Run_. I want to run. We _have_ to run. But there's nowhere to run _to_. Eventually, the sun will come up. But still, I can't just sit here and watch it come to claim us.

Optimus must be riding the same train of thought. I can sense his urgency as he turns away from the sky and reaches up, grabbing me gently, lifting me from his shoulder and setting me on the ground.

"What are you doing?" I ask as he transforms into the Peterbilt. The door pops open.

"Being irresponsible."

A smile tugs at my lips as I climb in, the door closing quickly behind me. An instant later, he's flooring it out of there, swerving back onto the dark road and driving away. I don't think he knows where—he's just driving. The holoform appears beside me a few moments later, and he casts a glance over his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" I ask again with a laugh, taking in his wild expression.

"Buying time," he rumbles gently, grabbing my hand again, shocking my skin. It takes me a moment to figure out what he means. I only figure it out when he looks out behind us again, and then I realize we're driving _away_ from the oncoming sunrise.

"We're running from the sun?" I ask in disbelief, but I can't stop smiling. He shrugs.

"We have to try," he says, and I lean into him affectionately, tucking my head against his shoulder and wrapping my arms around his torso. He stiffens at first, unsure, before he wraps his arms around me in return, pressing his face into my neck with a sigh. I pull away and brush my palm over his forehead, earning a smile as he returns the gesture. He watches me for a moment before extending an arm toward me. "Come here."

I lean a little closer before he grips my arms and tugs me against him, turning me so that my back is to his chest, one of his legs on either side of me. I have no idea how he's driving and doing this at the same time, but I'm not about to question it. I press slightly closer to him, slipping both of my hands into his.

He rests his chin on top of my head and just holds me for a while as he drives; neither of us speaks. And we keep running from the rising sun, from tomorrow, from everything it represents—moving on, loss, _reality_. We'll never face it, not if we don't have to. It's nice to pretend, at least. The radio turns on, playing music quietly in the background. I've already made a mental note of most of tonight's music, turning the night into a soundtrack.

It quickly becomes apparent that we're fighting a losing battle against the sun. No matter how far we get, the sky continues to get lighter, turning from murky midnight to blushing pink. Urgently, we disentangle ourselves, hanging our heads out of the same window, his body pressing down on mine as we watch the lightening sky.

"Drive faster," I laugh as the wind steals my breath. "Go, go, go!"

A look of concentration crosses his handsome features, and the truck picks up speed. I can't stop laughing as we duck back inside, and then I'm crying, and I'm not sure if it's from the laughter to the sadness. Time's almost up.

Finally, we can't run anymore. When we look out, the tip of the sun is just barely cresting over the horizon. Optimus pulls over, off the side of the road. I'm breathless, as though I've just run a marathon. He pops open the door and steps out, looking at me with an outstretched hand.

"This is it," he says, his voice deep and regretful. I take his hand and he leads me around to the side of the truck before climbing onto the hood and helping me up. Once there, he climbs onto the roof, pulling me along with him, until we're sitting side-by-side, the length of my body pressed against his; shoulder to shoulder, leg to leg. We lean on each other, fingers laced as we watch the sun come up.

I can feel the tension building between us, and for a second I wonder if it's just me. But there's a definite sense of _wanting_ in the air, intense, and growing more demanding every instant that my skin is still in contact with his. I swallow, sigh, and lean my head against his shoulder. He lifts our hands and presses the back of mine to his lips—not a kiss, just his lips on my hand for a moment before he pulls it away, resting our hands on my thigh.

In silence, we stare out at the rising sun. A tear sneaks down my cheek, and any hope I'd had of him not noticing is dashed when he wipes it away. I try to laugh at myself, embarrassed. The only sounds come from the birds and from his radio, which I focus on to stop myself from crying.

When I listen to the lyrics, I realize very suddenly that I'm not the _only_ one feeling the needling desire.

"_One look could kill,  
>My pain, your thrill—<em>

_I wanna love you, but I better not touch (don't touch)  
>I wanna hold you, but my senses tell me to stop.<br>I wanna kiss you, but I want it too much (too much)  
>I wanna taste you, but your lips are venomous poison."<em>

"Nice song choice." I laugh gently at the cheesiness, squeezing his hand. He looks embarrassed, but doesn't change it, which is fine, because I happen to like Alice Cooper. He glances down at our hands and gives me a look, a small smirk playing on his face. The song changes, but this time it skips to the middle of a song—E.T. by Katy Perry.

"_Kiss me, ki-ki-kiss me,  
>Infect me with your love and fill me with your poison…"<em>

I return the look. "Something you want to say?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"_Kiss me beneath the milky twilight,  
>Lead me out on the moonlit floor.<br>Lift your open hand,  
>Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance<br>Silver moon's sparkling.  
>So kiss me,<br>So kiss me,  
>So kiss me,<br>So kiss me…"_

By now, my heart is pounding in my chest. He's innocently watching the sky, as though he has _no_ idea what's going on, but I know better. He clears his throat and bumps my shoulder flirtatiously, flashing me a winning smile. I laugh, my stomach in knots, butterflies fluttering rampantly. I turn my head to look at him, taking in his profile; he's studiously ignoring me, trying his best to look innocent. But I don't mind; I take him in, memorizing him, the _man_ version of him. He sighs, playfully impatient.

"You know," I laugh at his sigh, "you're about as subtle as a hurricane."

He acts like he doesn't hear me, but the corner of his full mouth quirks up _ever_ so slightly. The song skips and then changes to a much more fun, upbeat song.

"_Girl! If you're wondering if I want you to;  
>I want you to, I want you to.<br>So make a move, cause I ain't got all night."_

The Weezer song catches me off guard, and I have to laugh at the bluntness—make a move, cause I ain't got all night?

I'm pretty shy about these things. I've never, _ever_ initiated a kiss before, and to be honest I'm not sure if he wants a _human_ kiss or a Cybertornian kiss. The last thing I want is to go in for a human kiss and freak him out. What if he thinks it's gross? I have no idea. He gives my hand another squeeze, and he replays the line, louder this time.

"_So make a move, cause I ain't got all night."_

I'm not an idiot—I _know_ he's telling me to do it. And because we still have time, because the sun's not up yet, I swallow back my nerves, steel myself, and decide _what the heck_? Go for it.

Keeping our hands entwined, I reach for him with my free hand, resting it lightly against his jaw, murmuring his name. He turns to face me, and I realize that his eyes are wide, his face nervous. I stroke my thumb over his cheek as the radio stutters, before crackling and going silent. All I can hear is my heartbeat, suddenly loud in my ears, and my hitched breathing.

Deciding to take the safer of the two routes, I lean in, and he does as well. His eyes watch me for a moment before he closes them, and I nuzzle my forehead against his. He actually starts slightly, and when I open my eyes, I see that his eyebrows are drawn, his lips parted slightly. He swallows and I close my eyes again, my fingers tracing his skin, cuddling our foreheads together more effectively now that we're the same size. He pulls back for just a moment, surprising me when he reaches up with both hands, leaving mine limply in my lap. He cups my neck with one hand, and with the other he pushes my bangs out of my face, leaning in again quickly so that the contact is pure skin to skin.

We spend a few moments like that, me following his every movement, learning. I'm pretty sure I'm getting better, because he seems reluctant to draw away. I smile at him and he clears his throat.

"As—as _fun_ as that is," he says awkwardly, "I'm afraid you misunderstood. _That_ wasn't what I was referring to."

"Oh." He gives me a gentle smile, touching my hair affectionately.

"It's okay," he says, "if you don't want to—"

"I want to," I say quickly, nodding. I can feel myself blushing. He leans his forehead against mine comfortingly, maintaining eye contact. I'm pretty sure this is the equivalent of a peck on the lips. "I just—I haven't kissed anyone in a while." Over two years, to be exact. I may be a little rusty.

"Nor have I," he says, which makes me laugh, and I relax. He's _never_ kissed anyone, not this way. My eyes flick past him to the sun, which is almost up now. I give a small nod.

"Close your eyes," I tell him, and he obeys, eliminating the bright blue glow. I pull my face away from his, cupping his jaw in my hand, taking him in again. I don't ever want to forget this, the way he looks—nervous, expectant, eager, in a way. Gently, I trail one finger of my opposite hand over the corner of his mouth before leaning in and sealing the distance between us.

He stiffens slightly and lets out a small gasp against my mouth. My hands shake slightly against his skin as I catch his lower lip between mine, applying the softest pressure before releasing it and pulling away—best to start off simple, I decide, and not overwhelm him. But before I can separate completely, his grip on my neck tightens slightly—just enough to make it known that he's not keen on the idea of the kiss ending just yet.

It pretty much breaks my concentration, and I give in to the desire. With a sigh I lean into him, pressing my mouth more firmly against his, parting my lips. He makes a soft sound in his throat as I grab at the back of his head, crushing his mouth to mine briefly before I separate completely, catching his lower lip between mine one more time, pulling slightly, before releasing him.

"Is there a method to this?" He asks, repeating my question when I'd Cyberton-kissed him. We're so close, still, that I can feel his breath on my lips as he speaks.

"Mm-hmm," I murmur, nodding my forehead against his.

"Show me," he requests gently. "Please."

I do. I stick to the basics—just lips on lips, mouths slightly open; no tongue, not yet. I'm enjoying the innocent intimacy of this kiss, the literal electricity of our mouths pressed together. It doesn't last long at all; already, the sun is up, warming us, reflecting off his glossy paint. _Paint_. The truck—_him_. I start to draw away, one hand flat on the roof of the truck, and he lets me go, keeping his face against mine.

"Don't," he says gently. "Don't think about it. I want this."

His voice is earnest, serious. Feeling the urgency of the rising sun before is, I lean in, kissing him, giving in. He's a quick learner—not the best kisser by any means, but if I can improve, so can he. Besides, this kiss isn't about skill. It's about being close. I just wish there was more time for learning. I nip at his lower lip gently, which makes him laugh, before ducking my head to kiss his throat affectionately a couple of times, trying to keep the sadness at bay. He squirms and wriggles slightly, unused to the sensations as I kiss my way back up to his mouth. Mirroring my actions, he bites my lip—harder than I had, but it doesn't hurt in the least. I gasp and laugh as he kisses my neck, his lips soft, ticklish. I make the mistake of cracking open my eyes as I lean my head back.

We're out of time.

I grab his face in both of my hands, locking our lips together. He makes another soft sound as I press our foreheads together briefly, gently, making sure he's enjoying it _his_ way, too. When I taste salt, I know it's all over. He pulls away, looking confused, drawing his tongue over his lower lip curiously, tasting; his lips are damp and red from the kissing. He glances over his shoulder at the sun, a massive orange orb, turning the sky pink and orange and, in some places, purple. When he looks at me again, his eyes are deeply sad.

"Thank you," he murmurs quietly.

He strokes one thumb over my cheek, wiping away my tears as he brushes a palm against my forehead. Rather than return the gesture, I lean in and slip my arms around his torso, tilting my face up to kiss his chin, electricity tingling my lips. He sighs heavily, the whole truck rumbling as he absently traces a thumb over my lips once, twice, before removing it and staring into my eyes. With a sad smile, he kisses my forehead, rubs it warmly with his, our noses brushing before he pulls away completely, standing and hopping lightly off the roof onto the hood, holding a hand out to me.

I swallow thickly, bracing my shoulders, running a hand through my now-staticky hair. I take his hand and he tugs me from the roof, pulling me flush against him, lifting me into the air and holding me close for a moment without speaking. And it's enough, these last moments with each other. I bite my lip, pressing my face into his shoulder, holding him for one second longer before I release him and we climb down.

My feet hit solid earth. I trail my fingers over the Peterbilt as he keeps our fingers laced. When we reach the door, he pulls me in gently, twisting me around, causing me to spin against him. Wrapping his arms around me, pulling my back snugly against his chest, he pops open the door. We climb in.

The sun's up. The spell's broken. Time to face reality.

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><p><strong>NOTE: YAY! Please review on this one especially! It would mean so much!<strong>


	32. Chapter 32

**IMPORTANT *SEQUEL* NOTE: So I've decided to write a sequel to this, seeing as how I'm 32 chapters in and nowhere near DOTM yet. So the sequel will be during DOTM-ish. So, here's the fun part. You all know why I named this **_**Twisted—**_**because it is. There's so many twists, and P's world itself is twisted, and Parker was twisted. So, the next story's title will have the same effect—it will hint at the whole idea of the story.**

**So, to give you guys a little fun and a little taste, here are some of the names I'm considering, just to tease you: 1. **_**Surrendered, 2. Cleansed, 3. Controlled, or 4. Addicted**_**. I'm not going to give you any more because I don't want to risk blowing it, but make of those what you will. ;) Hopefully they keep you guessing, but I must say, I love where I'm going to take the sequel! **

**FUN TRIVIA: I never told you guys, but want to know where I got this idea? Remember at the end(ish) of DOTM, when Lennox tells the soldiers something along the lines of "I can't guarantee you a ride home" and then the young black soldier steps up and says, "**_**I can find my own ride home, sir."**_** He inspired Savannah. That soldier kept popping up after that, and I wondered about his life and, eventually, this was born. :D**

**I am so tired. Forgive the typos.**

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 32<span>

We were in so much trouble. But it was _so_ worth it. I'd spent an hour or so after I'd gotten back being lectured very sternly by Savannah, and Optimus had received similar treatment from Ironhide, who didn't appreciate the irresponsibility. The strange thing, though, was that Ironhide was gentler than Savannah, more understanding. Somehow, I'd wished Ironhide had lectured me instead.

It's over, now, though. I've hardly gotten any sleep because I don't want to waste a single second with the twins and Optimus. Lennox had been kind enough to allow me to hang out with them all day, so long as I stayed out of the way of training and such. Time had flown by, leaving me reeling, stunned.

Today is the day, and I can hardly breathe.

I stare around my blank, spotless room, my few belongings all packed into an army green duffel bag, my sketchbook resting limply against the bag; the last two years of my life, all tucked away into that duffel bag. My royal blue dress, my gift from the twins, is resting on the bed. I glance numbly at the clock on the wall; four hours left, and ticking down from there. The second hand ticks slowly, and I want to flinch every time it jumps from one second to the next. It's making me insane. I kick my duffel bag sourly and square my shoulders, heading out to the hangar with a deep, steadying breath.

I pass Roger Geary and Ozera on the way. Ozera, though I've only spoken to him a couple of times, stops me.

"D-day, huh?"

"You heard?"

"We heard," Roger says with a nod. I sigh, my breath shaky. He elbows me gently. "We also heard about your little _rendezvous _with a certain Cybertronian." He wiggles his eyebrows at me and I have to laugh.

"Yeah," Ozera teases, "what's that all about, hmm?"

"Shut up," I laugh, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure, sure," Roger laughs. He shoulders past me, bouncing me briefly between him and Ozera, ruffling my hair as he passes. "Later, kid."

"Cheer up," Ozera says.

"Later," I say, tucking my chin in slightly, steeling myself against the grief welling up in my chest. I don't make eye contact with anyone as I head to the hangar, my hands stuffed in my pockets, head slung low. I hesitate at the doors, even though I'm welcome, now, at all times. Do I _really_ want to go in there? I could very well fall apart if I do.

Ugh. I'm being ridiculous. I've faced far worse in the past. When I'd first been taken in by Megatron, I'd been a broken up wreck, under the impression I'd lost everything. But he'd made me stop crying. He'd made me strong. I can be strong again. I take a deep breath, calling upon those old habits, all the little tricks I'd learned to keep the tears at bay. The only difference is that now I'm hiding them from Optimus, from the twins—people who genuinely care about me, as opposed to Barricade, Starscream… Megs. No, that's wrong. Megs had cared for me. He'd shown that much in saving my life.

I don't know why he's on my mind today. I guess it's the general sense of loss that has settled itself heavily on my heart, dragging me down where I don't want to go. Long ago, when I'd first come here, I'd imagined this day so _differently_. I'd imagined Megs coming to get me, accepting me with welcome, telling me how proud he was of me. Together, we would have taken them out. Together. Had things gone according to plan, Optimus would be dead, N.E.S.T. in ruins, the Autobots crumbling.

It's so different now. _I'm_ different now.

Now, I'm moving on into God only knows what. A new life, maybe, a new start. But it's uncertain, it's a blank page, and that scares me. My life had been so _planned_ before. I'd known exactly what would happen to me, where I would go. I'd known exactly who the enemy was. Now? Now it's all murky, all twisted and distorted. I don't know where I'm going, and I don't know what will happen to me when I get there. Will I ever see the twins again? Will I ever see _Optimus_ again? Well, that's a given. I'll find a way, so I'm not _too_ worried about that.

Still.

Who knows what's out there? _Barricade_ is out there, a constant threat looming over me. I'm sure he wouldn't try anything again, not with Megatron's threats, but still. I'll never look at a cop car the same way again, I know it. And then there's that whole added bit about Megatron coming back for me, eventually. I don't know when, I don't know how. How much time to I have? How will it happen? It _will_ happen, that much I know for sure. But, out there, away from the protection N.E.S.T. has offered me, I feel open, exposed, vulnerable.

At least I'd finally done right by the Autobots. It terrifies me to think of what I was, before. I'm still that girl, of course—still strong, like Megatron made me, still the warrior Barricade had sculpted me into—some of my best qualities, I owe to them. But I'm different. Smarter, less blinded by rage. I'm happier now. And while it will be difficult saying goodbye, I have to believe that it's for the best. I have to hold on to this time with them, be grateful for it.

Because, without them, I would still be a monster. Just as the Decepticons had contributed to a vital part of who I still am—an excellent liar, logical, strong, clear-headed, determined—the Autobots had lent me pieces of themselves, as well. The twins had taught me to laugh and love again. Bumblebee had taught me to speak. Ironhide and Sideswipe had taught me loyalty, and Optimus… Optimus had taught me what it was like to _care_ again, a part of me that had been discouraged and disfigured during my two years with the Decepticons.

Now I have the best of both worlds, in a sense. I'll be able to start my new life as a new person, half Decepticon-girl, half Autobot-girl, and completely human. I don't know where it will leave me, but I know I can make it through.

The hard part is taking that step, leaving them behind, moving on. It all starts with that one, single, first step.

Pinching the center of my palm, _hard_, an old strategy I'd used to keep from crying, I shoulder my way into the hangar; my palm tingles and goes numb, but the tears subside. Training has died down; only a few soldiers remain, running drills with the Autobots and Lennox. The twins and Optimus, I notice, are separated from the group; Optimus is standing a ways away, looking very serious. The twins are both on their knees in front of him; Mudflap is bowing repeatedly at his feet in a worshipping fashion, while Skids has his hands clasped up in front of him.

"Please, please, please…" Mudflap groans.

"_Pleasepleasepleaseplease_," Skids continues.

Optimus pinches the bridge of his nose, looking conflicted. His eyes flick to me and he freezes for a moment before crouching down, saying something to the twins that I can't hear. I cock my head curiously as Mudflap gasps hugely.

"_Of course!_" He cries. "_Wit' everytin' I got!"_

"_Me, too, Boss!" _Skids begs. "_Please let us!"_

Optimus heaves a heavy sigh, and the twins seem to hold their breath as he considers. Finally, he gives in to whatever it is that they want. "Fine," he says, but his voice is incredibly serious. "Do _not_ make me regret this."

"We won't," Skids gasps, as Mudflap launches into a bunch of thank yous. Optimus just shakes his head, stepping over them to get to me. The twins catch sight of me and bounce to their feet, beaming and waving at me like children. Confused, I wave back before they start chatting excitedly with each other in low voices.

"What was that about?" I ask as Optimus makes it to me, curling one hand around the railing. I lean my back against it, crossing my legs, rotating my upper body toward him casually.

"You'll find out soon enough," he says. I give him a look, but he pointedly avoids my gaze and I laugh. "How are you, Parker?" His tone is serious, and I know he's talking about my leaving soon.

"Okay, I guess," I sigh. His face creases slightly, sadly. His other hand lifts, his finger brushing affectionately along my jaw. I smile as Ironhide shoots us a dirty look. "Ironhide still mad at you?"

Optimus laughs. "He is not _mad,_" he reasons. "Just wary."

"Of me," I say pointedly, nodding. "He doesn't like me very much, does he?"

"Not particularly," Optimus chuckles, "but it does not matter if _he_ likes you. What matters is that _I_ happen to like you."

"Yeah," I say with a roll of my eyes. "You're not too bad yourself." This ears me a low chuckle.

"Ironhide—"

"What _about_ me?" Ironhide has stepped up beside Optimus, arms folded, looking cross. He narrows his eyes at me and I lift my chin slightly, smirking.

"What's shakin', bacon?"

"Ex_cuse_ me?" He looks both annoyed and confused, and I stifle back a very un-ladylike snort. Optimus sighs.

"There's no excuse for you," I sigh sadly. "Can I help you with something?"

"Remember your place, fleshling. Optimus may have a soft spot for you, but _I_ harbor no such feelings."

Though the details of what had happened between Optimus and I the other night remain obscure to everyone, I'm sure they all have a good idea. These last two days, we haven't attempted to hide our affection for each other, exchanging hugs and Cybertronian kisses every so often. Whatever there is between us, it's no secret, and while most haven't commented, Ironhide hasn't bothered to hide his displeasure. We've been bickering nearly constantly since Optimus and I had returned, the both of us determined to get under each other's skin and armor.

I'm not sure who's winning.

Optimus, at least, takes it in good humor. He'd told me that that was simply how Ironhide was. Ironhide worried for Optimus because he loved him—like a brother, a best friend. He would do anything for his leader, even if that meant protecting him against me. In the meantime, though, Ironhide's duty is to protect me as best he can, something Optimus had said that Ironhide was none too pleased about, but that he'd taken upon himself to do in order to keep his leader mentally sound.

I give Ironhide a pointed look. Now that I know he can't do anything about it, I'm determined to irritate him as much as possible. It's become my favorite game these last two days.

"Why are you _here_?" I ask him in irritation, crossing my arms. "This is an _A_ and _B_ conversation, so why don't you _C_ your way out?" I snicker to myself. It's a lame joke, but it does the trick. He gives me a deadly look and Optimus rolls his eyes.

"Optimus," Ironhide says, apparently deciding the best course of action is to ignore me. "We need you with us to discuss…" He pauses, giving me a pointed look. I stare up at him innocently. He shoulders his way in front of me, using their silent-alien-communication to keep me out of the loop. When they're done, Ironhide gives me a subtle smirk before walking away. Optimus sighs.

"Wow," I say, "when did _he_ become your jealous ex-wife?"

"I beg your pardon?" Ironhide whirls around, cannons blazing. Laughing, I duck behind Optimus's hand with a soft shriek. Ironhide smirks. "That's what I thought."

He leaves us alone then and Optimus shakes his head. We stare at each other for a moment before I burst out laughing and Optimus chuckles with me. "He's a cantankerous old fool," Optimus says affectionately, and I remember that he'd described him the same way once before. "But his Spark is in the right place."

"I know," I say, and it's the truth. Ironhide and I are both on the same team here, really; we both want to protect Optimus. To some extent, we both want to protect him from _me_. As long as that remains true, I'll take anything Ironhide can throw at me. Not that I have much time to do so.

The thought makes me sad again, and Optimus notices. He extends one finger on the hand that I'm leaning against, nudging me softly. I look up into his face and force a smile, reaching out to trace my fingers over his cheek. I'm glad, at least, that we don't have to hide this. We have so little time left, and no one wants to take that away from us.

No one, that is, except for my brother. He'd been furious. I hadn't exactly _told_ him we'd kissed, but I hadn't denied it, either. In his eyes, that's as good as a confession. So now, whenever Optimus and I are together (which had been constantly these last two days) Savannah is shooting daggers at us. Not that I care. I'm not going to let him ruin this for me. If he doesn't like it, then fine. I don't care. He doesn't get to make my decisions. It's _my_ life.

"Be strong," Optimus tells me, his voice so gentle that it makes me want to cry. I nod stiffly. "This is a new beginning for you. It is a good thing."

I let out a huffing breath. "Mm-hmm," I say sarcastically.

"You get to go back home," he reasons. "It's been over two years. Are you not excited?"

"It's not my home anymore," I say darkly. "It's _Ronnie Addams's._"

This, at least, gets a laugh. I'd told Optimus all about my dislike of the girl, my soon-to-be-God-help-me-sister-in-law. "I'm afraid I still don't understand your animosity toward the poor girl," he reasons gently, catching my chin with his knuckle. "You described a _good_ person."

"Exactly," I tell him. "And why is _she_ the poor girl? _I'm_ the one who has to move in with her." I can't keep the grumbling tone out of my voice, but I'm glad to be talking about this, at least. My irritation keeps me from breaking down into a sad little mess.

"_She_ is the poor girl because _she_ is the one on your bad side," he says, giving me a _look_. I glare. "From what I have seen, the receiving end of your wrath is not a safe place to be."

"Damn straight." I smile at him.

"_Prime_," Ironhide says, "if you please?"

Optimus sighs, rubbing his forehead. He gives me an apologetic look and I shrug. "I'll be back."

"No rush." _I only have an hour. No big deal._ I reach out and touch his lips with my fingers, a form of affection that we'd somehow created between us. We both enjoy it, and it's only the briefest, most fleeting touch. He strokes a finger over the length of my body before rumbling, "Excuse me," and pacing away toward Ironhide.

With nothing left to do, I sling my legs over the guardrail and sit on the top rail, linking my legs through the lower one in order to remain stable. I sort of zone out for a while, bored, trying not to think. I don't snap back into reality until I feel a presence behind me, and only an instant later a strong pair of hands are shoving into my back, pushing me over the edge of the rail.

I react purely on well ground-in instinct. My legs wrap around the lower rail, and I throw my arms back to grab onto the top rail, locking myself in place as I fall—

All of this happens within the breath of an instant. The next, those same hands have grabbed my shoulders, yanking me back as I gasp. I'm drawn back into a warm chest, and a laughing breath declares:

"_Saved your life!"_

"Savannah!" I whirl around with a laugh. "You almost gave me a heart attack, asshole!"

He tugs me off the rail with a laugh, ruffling my hair. _He_ at least, is excited. He can't wait for me to move in with Ronnie Addams. At least _someone_ is happy. I know he's trying to cheer me up, though, as he wrestles with and abuses me. We get a few worried looks from Optimus, but he seems to decide that all is well, leaving us to our sibling bonding.

I wonder if he and Megatron ever acted like this.

And there he is again, worming his way into my thoughts, curling around them like a dark poison. What _is_ it with me?

"So," Savannah says, backing off as I punch him in the stomach. He leans against the railing, and I lean beside him. "How you doing, P?" His eyes are gentle, understanding.

"Fine," I say offhandedly. He nudges my shoulder with his.

"Right," he says, "and pigs fly. Anyway. It's not gonna be so bad, okay? Ronnie's the best, and I _promise_ you'll love it there. It's better than hanging around these guys all day."

"I _like_ these guys," I say listlessly. "Can we stop talking about this?"

"I actually came down here to get you. Time's almost up, and you need to get your things."

My heart stops. He takes my hand, leading me down and past the Autobots. I trail my fingers over Optimus's foot fondly, giving him a sad, _this is it_ look. His eyes stay on me until I disappear, looking sad, helpless.

"Park?" We're near my room and Savannah stops suddenly. I glance up at him, and only then do I realize I'm crying. "No, no," he moans, "please don't cry. Please?" I shake my head; I can't help it, but I try to stop. He steps up and wraps his arms around me, which only makes it worse. I try desperately to control myself. "It's okay," he soothes, rubbing my back. "It's okay, you're gonna be fine."

"I'm going to miss you," I whisper into his shoulder, and he squeezes me.

"I'll visit," he says. "I've been visiting Ronnie, remember? I'll visit. It's only two hours away."

"And Optimus? The twins? Will they visit?"

His hesitation tells me all I need to know, and my breath catches. "I know it's hard," he says, "but they're doing so many important things—it'll be really difficult."

"Okay," I mumble, wiping my eyes and pushing away from him. I try to smile. "Let's get this over with, okay? God, this sucks."

"I know."

Too soon, we're standing in the hangar; it's go-time. I'm trembling slightly, duffel bag slung over my shoulder, dress folded over one arm, sketchbook clutched to my chest. I feel like a little girl on her first day of school, sad and scared, nervous and unsure. I just don't want to go.

"Alright," Lennox says, taking my things. "Say your goodbyes. Time to go, kid." I nod, wiping my eyes. My tricks aren't working, but at least I'm not sobbing. The tears are soft and slow; defeated tears. I don't say goodbye to Mirage, mainly because he's an asshole and I won't miss him. Wheeljack and I do say goodbye, however, even though I don't know him that well. Ratchet and I exchange civil farewells, and I give Carter, Roger, and Ozera quick hugs; I don't want to linger. A few other soldiers have stopped by just to see me off; some of my old guards and such. Beckett is there, too, watching over us. None of the goodbyes are all that personal until I reach Ironhide.

Feeling tiny, insignificant, I step up to him, placing a hand on his foot.

"Bye," I rasp, my voice raw and sore from my old injury. He stares down at me. "Thanks," I say earnestly, forgetting our bickering. "For everything. For coming for me that night." I take a shuddering breath, staring up at the towering black robot. I jerk a thumb over my shoulder at Optimus discreetly. "Keep him safe." He just rolls his eyes; I don't need to tell him this. I pat his foot and move on to Sideswipe.

"Later, kid," he tells me. He, like Ratchet, Ironhide, and Mirage, still isn't entirely warmed up to me. But he'd been most understanding, at first, the two of us holding a mutual sort of respect; we were both twins, both someone's other half. We understood what it meant to love someone more than yourself, to do anything for them. He may not be my biggest fan, but we have that.

"Bye," I say. "And… thanks." He knows what for; for that respect, for driving me, for everything.

Bumblebee is next.

"Hi," I say as he crouches down very close to him, balancing himself on his toes. He makes a soft, sad whirring noise. Reaching out, he grabs me with both hands, holding me between them just like he had that first day, the first time we had met. He brings me to his face briefly, then sets me on the ground with a soft pat. I laugh.

"_Be safe_," a man's voice mutters seriously from his radio.

"You, too."

"_Y'all don't be a stranger now, y'hear?"_

"I'll see what I can do. I'm gonna miss you." He nods sadly, poking my stomach once before shooing me away with one hand. Lennox is approaching me for his goodbye. I throw my arms around him, squeezing his neck. He laughs, rubbing my back.

"Can't—breathe—"

"Sorry," I yelp, releasing him before hugging him more gently. "Bye, Lennox."

"Bye, Parker."

"I'm so sorry about everything," I murmur in his ear. "Thanks for the second chance."

He just nods, and then we separate. "Be careful out there, alright?"

"You know me," I say with a half-hearted grin. My eyes land on Optimus, and I can feel Lennox watching me as an all new onslaught of tears takes me. Optimus closes the distance between us, getting down on one knee. He scoops me up, bringing me to his face; I wrap my arms around his fingers as I control the tears. When I release him, they've all but stopped. My voice is tight and dangerously uneven, but it's better than crying.

"_You_," I tell him. _"Be careful_. Okay? Please be careful."

"I will."

"Promise."

"I swear it to you," he says gently, stroking my face.

"I'm going to miss you," I whisper, my voice squeaky. "God, I'm going to miss you. I'm going to miss talking to you every night. I'm going to miss sitting with you and looking at the stars and—"

"Parker," he says, very softly, very gently. "Do not speak as though you're saying goodbye. _You_ are the most determined woman I have ever met." He gives me a look. "I have complete faith in you; you know how to get what you want. This is _not_ goodbye. Understood?"

"But—"

He sighs, cutting me off. "We _will_ see each other again, that much I can promise you; regardless of the rules that need to be broken."

"I'm assuming I'll be doing most of the rule breaking?"

"That always has seemed to be your forte." I smile. "I will come to you," he murmurs. "Do not worry. I will not let this be goodbye."

"I hope not," I breathe, but it doesn't make me feel much better. "I'm still going to miss you."

"And I shall miss you," he replies fondly. "Every night when I am alone beneath the stars, I'll know you should be with me and I will think of you." We watch each other for a few moments, just taking in these last moments. "Don't cry, Parker," he tells me.

"I'm sorry."

He brings me up and we press our foreheads together, moving them just slightly. "Thank you," he murmurs, "for the other night. I will never forget it."

"Me, either," I assure him, pulling away. I plant a kiss on his forehead and, just like always, he seems to stiffen at the sensation. A few moments later, he places me on the ground. I turn away to say goodbye to my brother when I hear him transforming. When I turn back, he's in his human form, in military-dress, standing just near me. He opens his arms tentatively, and I walk into them, squeezing him tightly as his arms wrap around my body. I clutch his military greens and he grabs my face between my hands, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead before touching them together, our noses brushing slightly; the simplest, most innocent of goodbye kisses.

Cupping my cheek in one hand, he trails his thumb over my mouth.

"I will see you soon," he tells me. "Until then, keep yourself out of harm's way."

"I will."

We aren't ready to let go, not yet. That much is clear in his intense blue eyes as he places his hands on my shoulders, trailing them down and squeezing my hands briefly before releasing me. As soon as we're no longer touching, I'm afraid I might lose it. I spin around to face my brother, who looks like he might have an aneurysm. I ignore him and hug him, smiling as Ironhide mutters about _abuse of advanced technology_.

"See you soon?" I ask Savannah.

"Of course," he grins. Leaving him is _so_ hard. It feels wrong to be leaving now, after everything I had gone through just to get him back. It feels too easy, unfair.

"Be safe," I tell him. "I love you."

"I love you too," he says, "and I'm so proud of you."

"You, too," I tell him. I kiss his cheek and he squeezes me tightly before releasing me to say goodbye to the twins. God, I don't think I can do this. I'm not strong enough. First Optimus, and now _this?_

When I find the twins _beaming_, I'm completely confused. Why do they look so happy? I just stare at them, taken aback.

"Guess what," Skids says brightly.

"Um."

They look at each other, practically trembling with excitement, before the look at me.

"You 'member dat thing we wanted to ask ya when we took ya to da mall?"

"Sure," I say, not following.

"Well," Mudflap says, "we got po'mission."

"What's going on?" I'm suspicious, now.

"We don' wanna say bye to you, Roadkill."

"No we do not."

"I know," I whisper, my throat closing up. "I wish I could stay—I'm going to miss you—"

"You don't gotta miss us!"

I just stare at them.

"Roadkill," Mudflap says slowly, ecstatically, "how would you like it if we was yo' guardians? Skids an' me?"

My heart stops. "My _guardians?_ You mean like—"

"Bee an' Sam, yeah!"

"You can _do_ that?" I practically shriek, my heart fluttering.

"Yup," Skids says proudly, "Optimus said so, ain't dat right, Boss?"

"It is," he says, now in his robot form again. "I thought that you'd appreciate it."

"Oh my _God!_" I cry, looking at Optimus, then the twins. "_Really?_"

"Yes," Optimus chuckles. "They came to me, pleading their case. They were quite convincing."

"They're my _guardians?_"

"Only if you want them to be."

"_Of course I want them to be!_"

"Then they're officially your guardians," Optimus chuckles. "They'll be rotating positions on a weekly basis, one of them constantly with you."

"Oh, _God_," I gasp. "_Thank you!_"

I'm crying again, but this time it's from excitement. I rush for the twins and Mudflap scoops me up, cuddling me to his face before passing me off to Skids, who crushes me to his chest.

"Gently, gently!" Optimus sounds worried and exasperated, like he's afraid he might regret his decision. I can't stop beaming with excitement. I don't have to leave them! I don't have to say goodbye! I'm laughing and crying at the same time. I glance up at Optimus and we lock eyes, and I mouth the words _thank you_ to him again, and he nods. I think he understands what this means to me.

I don't have to be alone. I don't have to give them up. And, to top it all off, they're a constant connection to the base—to _Optimus_. I feel slightly better now, like a small weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

After that, it gets easier. With my goodbyes said and, for two of them, avoided, I'm loaded up into Skids. He and Mudflap will both be taking me to my new home. Mudflap will be spending the first week with me; he'd won a coin toss to decide, because they'd bickered too much. All too soon, I'm saying goodbye to Savannah again, saying one last, small goodbye to Optimus. And then I'm loaded into Skids and we're pulling out of the hangar.

I stare out of the back window until the base is nothing but a smudge against the rest of the city, a meaningless blurb, indistinguishable. I turn away from it and refuse to look in the rearview mirror, simply because it is too difficult, emotionally, for me to look back. Instead, I stare straight ahead, heart aching, feeling like I'm leaving a huge part of myself behind us.

* * *

><p><strong>NOTE: I feel like you guys are going to hate me for making her leave and not coming up with an easy solution, but TRUST ME this is better and it works into the plot. Things might end up even twisty-er. :D I hope you liked it!<strong>

**Also, people have mentioned more than once in reviews and PMs that I should include Sam. Don't worry! Sam WILL be included and he will eventually meet Parker. Now, however, it is VERY VERY important that they DO NOT MEET. For plot reasons, of course.**


	33. Chapter 33

**NOTE: We get to meet Ronnie Addams! Yay! I **_**love**_** her.**

**I love this chapter because, in it, Parker realizes for the first time just how out of touch she is with life, after having been absent from it for over 2 years. Everything and everyone moved on, leaving her behind.**

**Reviews make me love you, which makes me update faster!**

**And, in cast you missed the last NOTE chapter: This story still has many chapters to come! I'm not finished yet. I also earned a few new readers, so thank guys!  
><strong>

Chapter 33

I'm home.

I'm home, and I've never been anywhere that feels _less_ like home.

It's my old house; an old colonial-style thing, one of the historical houses. When I'd been younger, I'd been absolutely convinced it was haunted. I'm still not sure if it's _not_. But now, leaning my forehead against Skids's window (I'm going to have to remember to clean the smudge), staring out at the house… I can't make myself get out of the car.

"You a'right, Roadkill?"

"I just need a minute."

"Take all the time ya need."

The car shuts off, and Skids hums me a comforting, tuneless song. Mudflap has pulled up beside us, waiting patiently. I watch the house, my forehead still leaned against the window. A bright yellow VW Bug sits in the long driveway; the same old trees surround the house, the huge oak tree by my window that had always scared me; I'd always imagined monsters climbing the tree and getting into my second-story bedroom.

The front door opens. We're at the start of the long driveway, so it's pretty far away, but it's clear who the person standing in the doorway is: Ronnie Addams. Mudflap and Skids activate their holoforms; we'd been told that Ronnie knows nothing about the Autobots. We're going to tell her that they're going to leave me with one of their cars to drive and would be rotating cars on a weekly basis, as per military needs. The twins are wearing military uniforms, looking sharp and, for once, respectable.

Ronnie walks out to meet us so, with a sigh, I climb out of Skids. Shoulders back and spine straight, he and his brother come around to meet me, Skids holding my duffel bag. We walk toward her, intending to meet her halfway. I try to keep my heart steady and the apprehension off my face; I try to look friendly, but I'm way too stressed and sad and confused to do any of this.

I just feel lost, now, more lost than I have in a while. I have to give it a chance, though. I owe myself and everyone else that much.

I don't know how to react when I meet Ronnie. I hadn't really thought about this moment, honestly. I'd simply decided to wing it, but now that the time's here, I just don't know what to do. So I just stand there awkwardly between Mudflap and Skids as we stop, and she breaks into a short run to meet us.

She's beautiful, I think grudgingly. Better than beautiful. Stunning. Her skin is even and golden, flecked with endearing freckles. Her eyes are a wide, jade green, her lips full and rose-petal pink, her hair a tangle of gold curls. She gives me a wide, nervous smile, wrapping her arms around me, flooding me with her scent, an enchanting mix of oranges and something creamy, maybe vanilla. I'm suddenly very overwhelmed, and even though I'm in her arms, surrounded by my two friends, I've never felt more alone.

"Parker," she says in her warm voice. She's so unfamiliar; she's too beautiful to be _real_. I can't believe I'm actually meeting her again. I'd known her in school, but this is different.

"Uh," I say awkwardly, squeezing her gently. "Hi, Veronica."

She releases me quickly, a fine blush crossing her pixie-like nose. She's so small; I tower over her and outweigh her. She looks up at me, seeming nervous and jittery.

"Sorry," she says. "I'm just—I'm so glad you're okay, you know?"

"I'm fine," I tell her, hating how harsh my voice sounds next to hers; hers is so soft and fleeting, enthralling. Mine is raspy, like a smoker's.

"It's so nice to meet you," she breathes. "I mean—officially, you know? It's different from school."

Because I can't think of anything else, I just say, "Yeah."

She nods, her eyes flicking between the three of us. "Who're your friends?"

"Oh," I say. "This is Matt and Steven." I use the names I'd created for them when Raul had asked.

"Nice to meet you," she says, offering her hand. They shake. "Do you want to come in?"

Because the holoforms can't travel too far from the cars, the boys shake their heads.

"We just came to drop her off," says Mudflap, sounding mildly respectable without all the usual slang. "She'll be keepin' my car, an' we'll rotate them as needed."

"Oh," says Ronnie, nodding. "That sounds like what Savannah told me." She glows when she says his name.

"We best be gettin' back," says Skids. Since he's the one leaving me for now, he gives me a tight hug, nearly crushing me. But I wouldn't have it any other way. I kiss his cheek as he rubs my back, mimicking my kiss and pressing one into my hair. "I'll see ya soon, Roadkill," he murmurs in my ear, nuzzling my neck affectionately. Losing him steals my breath and I nod mutely. He stares into my eyes, his so intensely blue; Ronnie can't seem to look away.

"You'll be fine," Skids says, trying to put on a happy face. "You's strong. I'm gonna miss you somethin' bad."

"I'm gonna miss you too," I say. "See you in a week?"

"Yeah." I hug him one more time, clutching his uniform, inhaling his scent. Then I release him. He waves to me and punches his brother on the arm. They give each other a long look, saying goodbye silently, even though it'll be only a week and they'll be able to communicate. It must still be hard.

Mudflap hugs me quickly, but it's all for show. He'll be waiting in the driveway for a week, watching over me. Together, they head back to their cars; Mudflap goes through the motions of climbing into Skids before they drive off, honking at me. I glance at Mudflap, knowing he's probably already deactivated the holoform. He's still here, with me.

Without a word, I pick up my duffel bag from the ground; my dress had been folded up inside, and my sketchbook is in Mudflap, tucked away safely. Ronnie gives me another nervous smile and shrugs.

"Welcome home," she says. "Come on, let's go inside."

I follow her, but my movements are slow, tentative. This doesn't feel _real_. This house—it's not like I remember it. It used to feel like home. Now it just feels like a house. It's _not_ home. I take in every detail; the tiny handprints in the cement beside larger handprints. Again, my breath leaves me in a whoosh and I crouch down beside the cement. The tiny handprints are mine and Savannah's; our names and ages are written beneath them. We'd been five. Below them are our parent's handprints, and the dog's footprint. Our dog, an old golden retriever named Scooter, had died only a couple of months after my father had. The vets hadn't been able to explain it, had ruled it as heartbreak; Scooter and dad had been very close.

I slip my hand into my mother's print first; my hand is larger than hers, but smaller than my father's, I realize, when I place my hand in his print. I swallow thickly. I don't know if I can do this. There are too many memories here, too many things I hadn't considered.

Ronnie stands by silently. Embarrassed, I stand quickly. She gives me a gentle look, offering me her hand. I reject it. I don't need _her_ help. Her face falls just slightly and I stride toward _my_ house. I don't need _her_ help, _her_ guidance. This is _my_ home. It has to be.

The rosebushes by the patio had been replaced by small square shrubs. The old creaky door had also been replaced, I notice as I open it. I step in over the threshold, inhaling; it smells different than I remember. Clean, with the warm, gooey scent of chocolate chip cookies. My mouth waters and I spin around to look at Ronnie. She blushes.

"I made cookies," she says unnecessarily. "I wanted the house to smell good, and Savannah said you liked chocolate chip, so I just thought…" she trails off. She must notice I'm struggling. Why is this so _hard? _Why is it that I can't handle the simplest thing? It's a chocolate chip cookie, for God's sakes.

I hadn't had one in over two years. Living with the Decepticons, I'd all but had to scavenge. Living on base, they'd only ever made sickeningly healthy food.

Savannah must have told her something about where I'd been, fed her some excuse, some lie. She doesn't press me, doesn't rush me. Which is good, because I'm having trouble functioning right now. I swallow thickly again, casting a glance at Ronnie. She still looks nervous, unsure.

"I—" I don't know what to say. All of a sudden, I realize I must seem incredibly socially awkward. What's worse is I know that I _am_. Aside from a few random interactions with people at the mall and military men on base, I have _no idea_ how to interact with a normal person, someone I'll be living with, someone who's _just_ a person. "Thanks." She smiles and looks relieved. I glance around the room, feeling both soothed and amped at the scent of chocolate chip cookies.

"I stocked up the house on food," she says, offering a sweet smile. "I wasn't sure what you liked, so I got… everything." She looks me up and down. "Savannah told me your size, so I grabbed you some clothes, too. I hope you don't mind."

I _do_ mind, actually. I don't want this twiggy little girl knowing my size. "We can go shopping, if you want."

"I don't have money."

"Savannah mentioned that, too," she says. "He told me you wanted a job." I hadn't told him that, but it was true. I just nod, afraid to open my mouth. "Well… I talked to some people. Got you a couple of interviews."

"When?"

"In a couple of days. Just at little places, little diners and cafes. But it's money, right?"

I don't return her smile. I just look around the house, feeling suddenly very smothered. I don't need her to take care of me. I don't need _anyone_ to take care of me.

The house is eerily familiar; not much has changed, but at the same time _so much_ has changed. It has me feeling edgy. A lot of the pictures have been replaced; family photos taken down in favor of pictures of Savannah and Ronnie together. I drop my bag unceremoniously on the floor and make my way over to the fireplace, looking at all the photos. There are only a few old ones, mostly of me and Savannah when we were younger, of our parents. A majority of the photos are of Savannah, Ronnie, and their friends. Military photos. Beach photos. Theme park photos. Happy photos.

I feel like a ghost in my own house. Suddenly, _I'm_ the one who's not real.

I make a couple of rounds through the house, avoiding the bedrooms upstairs. Mine is up there. My parents' is up there. Savannah's is up there.

"Parker?" I turn around, away from the doorframe leading into the hallway. Mine and Savannah's heights had been etched there, a timeline of our lives. Mom and Dad's are there, too. I'd always wanted to be as tall as my father, had always stretched up on my tiptoes. I'd always been taller than my brother; then puberty had struck. Still, I'm fairly tall. I trail my fingers fondly over the markings, my mind prickling with something like fear. I look at Ronnie.

"Want to take your things upstairs? We can get you settled."

"Sure."

I realize I'm probably not making the best impression, and note that I should try harder. But, right now, meeting Ronnie, I realize that while I don't particularly like her, she hasn't given me reason not to. I know I need to give her a chance, but she seems way too motherly for my liking. I grab my bag and follow her upstairs, heading into my old room. I almost pass out.

_Everything has changed_.

"What _happened?_" I take in the blank walls, the plain white sheets, the plain dressers. This is _not_ my home.

"Savannah couldn't take it when you—were gone," she stammers. "After your mom died… he couldn't handle your room. Said it hurt too much. He took it all down."

"My things?"

"In the basement. If you want them—"

"No." I shake my head. I need to start over. These blank walls are just like me life; fresh, waiting for me to take control. I drop my bag on the bed and sit down; Ronnie leans against the doorframe for a moment before she comes to sit beside me.

"Look," she says softly. "I know this must be hard for you. But I just want you to know that this is _your_ house. I've just been keeping it warm." She gives me a tiny smile, and I can't help but return it. She grasps my hand, hers all warm and gold against my coppery one. "Do whatever you want. I know you've had it hard for a while, so if you need anything—"

I pull my hand away sharply, and she gives me a startled, wide-eyed look.

"I appreciate it," I say coldly. "I really do. But we need to get something straight."

To my surprise, Ronnie sets her jaw and squares her shoulders, eyes narrowing. "What's that?"

"I don't need you to take care of me," I say firmly. "I'm a big girl. I can handle myself, Ronnie."

"I know that," she says just as firmly. "And I'm not trying to take care of you; I was just trying to help, Parker."

We stare each down for a moment, evaluating each other.

"I appreciate that," I say stiffly. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," she says bluntly. "I know you don't like me. I know you never did. But I'm not the same girl I was in high school. I'm not going to let you push me around. So… can we start over please? Because, if not, this will be _really_ awkward."

To my surprise, I'm smiling.

"Whoa," I say, "when did _you_ grow some balls?"

She shrugs, grinning. She offers me her hand. "So. Can we start over? We just got through the awkward first meeting. We know where we stand. Can we put this behind us, now?"

I grasp her hand, having found new respect for her. "Alright," I say. But only because she stood up for herself. "And quit looking at me like I'm a ticking time bomb."

"Sorry," she says, tossing her mane over her shoulder. "I'm nervous. I wasn't sure how stable you were." She taps her forehead, and I consider this.

"I'm sane enough."

She grins and stands up. "Come on," she says. "Dinner needs to be made, and you're going to help."

"I don't know if I can cook."

"I guess we'll find out."

She walks out of the room, and I follow her. I sort of like this new Ronnie, I decide. And she's right; it won't do us any good tiptoeing around each other. We can start fresh, get to know each other for real. I've got nothing to lose and, honestly, I'm a little desperate for friends.

That doesn't mean I _like_ her, and I'm not going to be easy on her, but still.

* * *

><p>Cooking dinner with Ronnie was <em>hell<em>. She's different than I remember; she fights back. As a result, we'd spent most of the dinner preparation bickering with each other. But I do like that she hadn't held back; she'd treated me like a normal person, an equal, not someone who needed to be babysat and looked after.

We'd cooked spaghetti and meatballs; I'd been put in charge of the meatballs. Apparently, I'd been shaping them wrong. After a few dirty jokes, things had turned more serious, and the blame had started flowing. Eventually, though, dinner had gotten done.

I stab moodily at one of my meatballs, and Ronnie gives hers a dirty look.

"What?" she snaps.

"This isn't a meatball. It's a meat_blob."_

"That's because _you_ don't know how to roll them!"

"You mixed the meat badly!"

"I did not!"

"You forgot the egg!"

"Ugh!" She throws her hands up. I jump violently as Boo, a black lab, pads up to the table, barking at me. I snarl at it. "Leave Boo alone!"

"Get him away from me."

"He just doesn't know you."

"I don't _want_ to know him. He's disgusting."

"He's a rescue, and he is beautiful."

"Of _course_ he is," I drawl. "He's still gross."

"C'mere, Boo," Ronnie coos. "Come here, beautiful boy."

"Scram, Tripod," I snarl at the dog, and Ronnie gasps.

"Don't call him that!" I laugh. Boo has three legs—hence the nickname. It drives Ronnie out of her mind.

We finish dinner, but the mood changes quickly. The snappy air fades, and instead we joke a little. I talk about Savannah a lot, trying to gauge her feelings for him. She's in love with him. The light in her eyes when she talks about him, the way she says his name… it's the real deal. You don't fake that kind of love. Eventually, I retire to take a shower, ditching Ronnie and leaving her to do the dishes; I can already tell this will become a routine.

I head up to my room again and I move to my window to look out at Mudflap, wondering how he's doing. But, as I reach for the shutters, I hesitate; how many nights had I lay awake, terrified of that damned oak tree? So afraid to look out the window and see eyes staring back at me… I roll my eyes at myself, forcing the childlike fear away. I'm an adult, now. Not a scared child. I know what monsters exist. I'd seen horrible things. I'm safe.

I pull open the shutters quickly, though, sucking in air; there are no eyes, and I laugh at myself, relieved. I open the window and stick my upper body out, giving a low whistle and waving at him. He flashes his lights before I duck back inside, heading into the bathroom.

On the way there, though, I notice my parents' old room at the end of the hall. I pause and turn toward it; the phone rings, but Ronnie picks it up. With a sigh, I head into the room, flicking on a light. Like my room, it has changed, too, become a guest room. It hurts, breaks my heart, but it makes sense. It couldn't stay that way forever. Like with my room, changing it had been the healthiest thing to do.

Heart aching, I wander to the bed and sit on it. The comforter and pillow cases are the same. I lift a pillow to my face, inhaling, desperate for something, anything, some part of them to linger there. I inhale deeply, searching for the scent of Dad's old cologne, Mom's perfume. But there's nothing. Their scents are gone. I set the pillow down, taking in a shuddering breath, tracing my fingertips over the bed.

I miss them. I miss them so much I can't stand it.

Standing, I leave the room behind; I can't take it anymore. I can't be in _their_ room and not see them in it; it's wrong, wrong, wrong.

I still can't shake the eerie feeling, the familiarity of the house that is clearly no longer mine. This is _Ronnie's_ house. Savannah's house. Their home; not mine. I'd felt much more at home with the Decepticons. It hadn't been about the place; it had been about the people—robots. Megatron, Starscream, Alice and Barricade. They were home. And, more recently, Savannah and Lennox and Mudflap and Skids and Optimus were home. Even Ironhide was home.

This place is uncomfortable. There are too many ghosts here, too many memories. I close the bathroom door and lock it behind me, turning on the hot water, wondering how I've become so lost. I just don't know who I am anymore. I undress and climb in the shower, but the hot water doesn't help. I spend an hour beneath the water, just thinking, missing Savannah and Skids and Optimus. I miss Mom and Dad.

God, I miss them so much. Maybe I can't do this. Maybe I can't keep living here.

I scrub the painful thoughts away, having located a body wash that I love (one called Sugar, Spice, & Everything Nice, a mix of cinnamon, vanilla, and something floral). I force the thoughts out of my mind as I shave, leaving my skin warm and soft. I let the hot water run over my face and body, relaxing me only slightly. I'm still too tense, I still feel too trapped and overwhelmed.

Finally, when I realize the shower isn't helping as much as I'd hoped, I shut off the water and climb out. I realize I forgot clothes, so I towel off my hair and body, wrapping the towel around me and tugging it snugly around my chest, tucking in the corner so that I don't have to hold it up. When I leave the bathroom, I hear Ronnie downstairs, laughing, still on the phone. I head into my room, but notice something is off.

The window. The window is open! That childhood fear seeps into my bones, chilling me. And then I realize there's something on my bed. I spin around, clutching my towel, and utter a soft, startled cry.

"M-Mudflap!" I clutch my throat; his holoform is sprawled out on my bed. "You scared me!"

"Sorry!" he grins, then looks me up and down, quirking an eyebrow. "You naked?"

"Yeah. Jesus! Don't scare me like that! What are you doing in here?"

"I got lonely," he pouts. "So I parked under the window an' climbed the tree. Ta-da!"

I roll my eyes. "I hate that freaking tree. You honestly just traumatized me."

"Sorry," he looks sheepish.

"Ugh." I grab some panties (Ronnie had gone to town picking out cute panties), a sports bra, and some pajamas, slipping into my closet to put them on before I sit beside Skids, fully clothed in striped cotton pajama pants and a black tank. Mudflap smiles at me and touches my short, wet curls; I've decided to let them just dry into a short, wild 'fro.

"Hows you holdin' up?" he asks, sniffing my neck. "You smell good."

"Thanks," I say and sigh. "I'm okay. You?"

"Bored," he shrugs, flopping down on my bed. I poke his stomach.

"Sorry."

"I'd rather be bored wit'choo than not have you at all."

"Hmm, thanks." I flop down beside him, tugging his cornrows. He laughs. "How's everyone back at base?"

"Good," he says, giving me a sly look. "You askin' 'bout everyone, or you askin 'bout Boss?"

"Shut it," I laugh.

We hear footsteps coming up the stairs. Mudflap gives me an alarmed look and vanishes. I sit up and look toward the door as Ronnie knocks softly.

"Come in."

"Savannah's on the phone," she says warmly. "Want to talk?"

"Sure." She hands me the phone and leaves; I roll over on the bed. "What do you want?"

"Hi!" He sings. "How are you?"

"Go away."

He laughs. "How's it going?"

"Okay."

"I heard you girls are giving each other a hard time."

"We're bonding." Savannah snorts and I laugh.

"I just wanted to check up on you," he says. "Make sure everthing's going fine."

"I dunno yet."

"You'll survive."

"You changed my room."

"Yeah," he says tensely. "Sorry. I didn't know you were coming back, and it was a constant reminder—"

"It's cool. You could have warned me, though."

"I didn't even think about it, P. Sorry."

"It's fine," I assure him, then sigh. "So… how's everyone?"

"You mean Optimus."

"No." _Yes._

"Sure, sure. He's fine. He's outside right now with Skids and Ironhide."

"Oh."

Savannah lets out a heavy sigh. We make light conversation before I finally end it. "I'm sick of your voice," I tell him playfully. "I can't miss you if you don't go away."

He laughs. "Night, P. Love you."

"Love you too. Say hi to everyone for me."

"Sure."

We hang up and I take the phone downstairs, where I snag a cookie from the kitchen. Ronnie is waiting for me in pajamas, a huge bowl of popcorn in her arms. She grins.

"Sleepover?" I give her a look. She grins sheepishly. "I'm excited, okay?"

"Fine," I say. "I can't remember my last sleepover."

She squeals and hurries into the living room, flicking on the huge TV. I plop down beside her. We decide to watch old scary movies, hiding beneath a blanket, munching on popcorn and cookies and M&M's. I'm sure I'm going to go into a sugar-coma, but I don't care.

Sitting next to Ronnie, laughing at the corniness of the old movies, I start to feel slightly more optimistic. I can start over now, I can move on. It'll be hard; for the first time in two years, I won't have robots in my life, constantly telling me what decisions to make. Will I screw up? Sure. I plan on it. But for now, at least I can fool myself into thinking I'm free.


	34. Chapter 34

**NOTE: Forgive any typos! I wanted to get this out before I went to bed, and I'm too tired to notice typos. Boo. Anyways. I love this chapter! Enjoy!**

Chapter 34

I have a job now which, I have to admit, is incredible. It's nice to be on my own two feet, taking care of myself, earning my own money. Ronnie and I have grown to accept each other and I've actually found that I enjoy her company. We spend our nights hanging out together on the couch, chatting, watching TV, eating.

Savannah calls a lot, mostly to talk to Ronnie and ask me if I approve. I hate to admit it, and I'll never tell Ronnie this, but I _do_ approve. I see how happy they make each other. That's all I want for my brother—to be happy, to be loved, and it's painfully obvious just how in love with him Ronnie is.

It's been lonely, though, these last few weeks. Skids is with me now. He'd been telling me everything going on at base; apparently, the Autobots are very active lately, traveling all over the world to take care of human problems. Optimus is busiest of all. Mudflap and Skids generally stay behind, though they had left me a couple of times to go somewhere in the Middle East.

Everyone's back now, though. They'd returned two nights ago, and Mudflap and Skids had assured me that everyone is safe. To be honest, I'm a little annoyed that Optimus hasn't given me any word or tried to contact me yet but, to protect myself, I've decided to accept it. He's an alien leader; he has more important things going on in his life than one human girl. Logically, I know I'll probably never see him again, that the words he'd spoken had been uttered in the heat of the moment, had no real conviction.

Savannah is stopping by tonight—not to visit me, but to visit Ronnie, which is okay, I guess. He's taking Ronnie out. It'll give me time to hang out with the _real_ Skids, in his bipedal form. He's been waiting for me all day in the parking lot, patiently playing the role of a normal, non-sentient Beat. It's six in the afternoon, and my shift at _The Sock Hop Diner_, aka _the Hop_, a little 50s-themes restraint is about to end. I actually like my job, bitchy customers aside. I'm just a waitress, and I'm forced to wear poodle-skirts, but still. It's cute, though sometimes the cheery atmosphere weighs on my nerves. So does having to fake constant, uppity smiles.

So, dressed in my 50s getup, I exit the Hop and climb into Skids, who revs happily.

"'Bout time," he says irritably, and I thump the seat with my fist. "I ever tell you how much I like you in dat outfit, Roadkill?"

"Shut up," I laugh, because he tells me this every day. For some reason, he adores the poodle skirts; today it's aqua blue with a black poodle, coupled with a matching scarf around my throat. I tug on the scarf as he drives me home. "So," I tell him, "Ronnie and Savannah are leaving me alone tonight. We gonna hang out or what?"

"Uh," he says uncomfortably. "Actually, Roadkill—I gots things ta do, ya know?"

"Oh…"

"Aw, now don't sound like dat!" he whines, "I'm sorry!"

"It's okay," I say quickly, "no worries. I'll hang out by myself. It might be fun to have some alone time."

"I'm _sure_ you'll find _somethin_' to do."

The cheeky undertone to his voice leaves me confused, but I ignore it. I can't wait to get home and shower. Ronnie should be home by now, getting ready for her date. And maybe Skids is right; a night alone definitely doesn't sound too bad. A bubble bath is sounding better and better.

Sure enough, when we get home Ronnie is rushing around, frantic.

"He's going to be here soon," she cries shrilly.

"Calm down," I tell her, grinning. "Listen. You look hot, okay? Relax. Breathe, Ronnie."

She looks at me, her eyes wide. I take her in; she's wearing a pretty gray cocktail dress and a pair of black heels; her hair is pulled back from her face, tumbling over her shoulders in gorgeous golden ringlets. She looks stunning. I grip her shoulders in my hands, feeling beastly and unpretty again. I push the emotions back, trying to ignore the fact that I'm towering over her in a ridiculous poodle skirt.

She nods, taking a deep breath. "Sorry," she breathes. "I'm freaking out. Ugh. It's just—I miss him. And I want this night to be perfect."

"It will be," I laugh. Part of me wants to tell her to keep her perfect little hands off of my brother, but I can't bring myself to do so. Instead I give her a smile. "Do you need my help with anything?"

"No," she says, taking another deep breath. "No, I'm fine. I just need to find my purse and my phone… and make sure my makeup is okay…"

"You sure?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Okay. I'm gonna go take a bath. Holler if you need anything, and if not… have fun."

She gives me a quick hug. "Thanks."

We disentangle and I head into the upstairs bathroom, the one with the huge tub. I fill it with warm water and the same body wash I'd used my first night here, one that had quickly become my favorite. When the tub is full and sudsy I strip down and slip in, sinking into the warm water and closing my eyes, leaning my head back. After a while I duck under completely, blocking out the world. I surface for air and, eventually, I faintly hear the front door open and close. I figure I've been in for over half an hour, and as much as I'm enjoying my bath, there are a few other things I want to do tonight, now that I have the house to myself.

So I towel off and head into my room, opting for a sports bra, a sweatshirt, and a pair of cute panties. I hop downstairs, a smile forming on my face. Tonight will _definitely_ be a good night. I grab Ronnie's iPod, figuring she won't mind, and put it on her _Dance!_ playlist, plugging it into the stereo and turning it up _loud_; ridiculously loud, so loud that I feel the bass in my bones. But there aren't any close neighbors, so I don't care.

Skids will be sorry he missed this.

Putting the playlist on shuffle I move into the kitchen, sorting through the fridge. What's a girl to do when she's all alone, music blaring, with the night to herself? I decide to bake. I haven't baked anything on my own in over two years, so I'll to give it a shot. I used to be pretty good.

I can't decide whether I want to back cookies or a cake, so I figure I'll do both. Go big or go home, right? Besides, I'm sure Ronnie will eat some, because I know I can't eat it all myself. I sort through the pantry, gathering all the ingredients; cake mix, eggs, flower, milk, chocolate chips, peanut butter chips, frosting, sugar, and a million other things. I start mixing things together, making a huge mess; I screw up a couple of eggs, cracking them with too much force so that they splatter all over the counter. But I get it eventually; I decide to start with the cake, since the mix is pre-made, and it'll be easier.

Dancing to the music, swinging my hips and twisting around, I find myself licking more chocolate batter off of my fingers than is probably healthy. Then I remember I don't care. I'm having _way_ too much fun. I stir the batter fiercely, beaming at my concoction. The oven beeps, letting me know it's reached the right heat as I pour the batter into two pans before sliding them into the oven and starting on the cookies—I'll be doing these from scratch. The recipe is for chocolate chip cookies but, because I rarely do things the simple way, I've decided to throw in a few of my own ingredients. They'll probably taste gross, but you never know unless you try, right?

The ground outside suddenly rumbles, which makes me freeze and my heart stop. I clutch the bowl tensely, the batter nothing more than flower and eggs at the moment. That wasn't an earthquake; this is _Hampton_, not SoCal. I don't know many things that can make the earth tremble like that, and the only things I can think of make my blood turn to ice.

But—it _can't_ be, can it? He wouldn't come back for me, not so soon. I wait, frozen, for a few minutes, but nothing happens. Slowly I relax and turn the music up to drown out my fear; I resume dancing, telling myself I imagined it, that there's no need to freak out. I start thinking about how dancing is more fun when you have a partner when the ground rumbles again. I shove the bowl and wooden spoon away from me, pressing my back against the fridge, my heart hammering.

How did they _know_? How did they know I would be alone tonight, of all nights?

I square my shoulders and edge to the front door, trying to control my trembling body and the cold fear curling in my stomach. Boo comes running into the kitchen, snarling, fur standing on end. Despite his missing leg, he looks menacing, and for once I'm glad for the animal. He can't help me, but at least I don't have to face this alone. Because there's no running, not if they've found me, I reason. The best thing to do is slip into the role of Megatron's bird again; obedient, willing. I'm on their side. I can do this. I can do this.

I don't _want_ to do this.

But I want to survive. If I want to survive, I have to play the game.

Shoving Boo back behind me, I crack open the front door and peer out; there's no sign of them, but I can't hear anything over the blaring music. Carefully, I step out.

"Back for me already? Missed me that much, huh?" I call, putting on my best tough-guy voice. I'm falling apart inside, though. There's a beat of silence. "Barricade?" I call into the night. "Starscream? I—_Boo! Get back inside you stupid animal!_"

As much as the dog annoys me sometimes with his constant barking and drooling (on _me_) I don't want him to be crushed by Decepticon feet. He deserves a better fate than that. The ground rumbles again as Boo tears around the side of the house, barking up a storm, sounding intimidating. I sprint after him, rounding the corner, smacking into a gigantic metal leg. I shriek as I bounce off, landing in the soft grass. The foot lifts as Boo snaps at it, bristling.

"Stupid dog," I snarl, grabbing his left hind leg and effectively knocking him over; he's missing the left front. He yelps, rolling over, glaring at me.

"Parker?"

My heart stops; for the first time I stare up into the face of the robot on my lawn. The familiar blue eyes burn into me.

"_Optimus?"_ I'm stunned. I don't get up. I rub my forehead, sore from where I'd smacked it on his leg. "What—what are you _doing here?_" I demand.

"I missed you," he says simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, like there would be no other logical answer to that question. His eyes are worried, full of concern. In the darkness, I hadn't realized that the leg had been red and blue patterned, rather than the usual dull Decepticon colors.

"I—you—_you scared the hell out of me!_" I cry, staggering to my feet, slightly lightheaded. I rub my forehead again, resentfully. Boo won't stop barking; Optimus lifts his foot again, nudging the dog tentatively with a toe. Boo snarls at it and snaps at the metal, clipping it with his teeth.

I take a moment to really take in the scene and nearly laugh at the absurdity of it all. Boo, a small earth dog with three legs, has Optimus cornered—Optimus, a 32 foot alien robot, equipped with Energon weapons and formidable fighting skills. Were Optimus _anyone_ else, anyone with a heart less kind, Boo would be nothing more than an irritating black smear on the bottom of his foot. But, as it is, Optimus is too kind-hearted for that. Afraid of hurting the dog, he's backed into a corner, pressed into the house.

"I did not mean to scare you," Optimus says, leaning back against the house, arms splayed on the roof for support as Boo snaps at his feet. I resist the urge to laugh at the scene; God I wish I had a camera. Optimus glances at me. "Why did you call for Starscream? And Barricade?"

"Jesus," I sigh, running a hand through my damp, curly fro. "I thought they came back for me."

"You seemed rather calm about it."

"I'm a fantastic actress."

"I see."

"How long have you been outside?"

"Since Savannah picked up Ronnie," he says. "I was his ride here, and Skids went with them to dinner. He was not happy about relinquishing control to Savannah, but it was necessary."

"_Oh_," I say. It's all clear now. This was what Skids had meant when he'd said he'd had plans, that he was sure I'd find something to do. Optimus gives me a helpless look, nudging Boo with his foot.

"Boo," I say. "Down. Stop."

Boo ignores me, so I grab his collar. "Wait here," I tell Optimus, and he nods as I drag the dog back inside and lock the dog door. I start laughing when I return to him; he's leaned away from the house now, looking more relaxed. "I wish you could've seen yourself," I laugh. He narrows his eyes.

"I didn't want to hurt your pet," he reasons, and I shrug.

"Go ahead," I tell him, "I hate that stupid dog. He hates me, too."

Optimus laughs, and the sound warms me. "Are you alright?" He crouches in front of me. "You ran into my leg."

"I know," I rub my head again, "I'm fine though."

"You look surprised to see me."

"I am," I confess. "I hadn't heard from you. I guess I just assumed—"

"You assumed I wouldn't come for you," he says gently, and I scuff my bare foot on the grass, shrugging. He tips my chin up with a finger. "I promised you," he reminds me. "I try very hard _not_ to break my promises—especially not to those who are important to me."

I smile. "Sorry," I say.

"No need to apologize," he says, smiling softly in the darkness.

"I missed you," I say, hugging his hand tight to my body. He curls his fingers around me, giving me a gentle squeeze.

"And I, you," he says again, his voice so full of warmth that I curl into his hand again. I notice that there are scratches and dents in his metal. I rub one of the ones on his arm gently, ecstatic to see him, but concerned over the scratches.

"You okay?"

"I'm well," he says gently. "Battle scars. They'll heal soon enough."

I kiss one of the ones closest to me, and his eyes close gently. "Optimus," I tell him, "I'm really happy to see you."

"I'm glad," he murmurs. "I'd imagined this going differently, however. I hadn't planned on scaring you, or being attacked by your dog, or giving you a concussion."

I laugh. "Nah, that's romantic." He laughs, too. "Why didn't you let me know you were out here?"

"I was waiting for the right time," he says awkwardly. "I was going to alert you to my presence when you came downstairs, but then you started dancing, and you didn't seem like you wanted to be bothered—"

"Were you _watching me?_" I demand suddenly. He jerks slightly.

"Of course not," he says. "I would never invade your privacy in such a way."

"How did you know I was dancing then?" I raise an eyebrow.

"I looked in your window _once_," he says firmly, and I believe him. "And after that I would look in _occasionally_. But I didn't watch you; I would never observe you without your consent."

"Sure, creeper," I say, but he knows I'm joking. I can tell he's telling the truth, which is great, because I can't stand the thought of being _watched._ That's so stalkerish. I smile at him and kiss his palm as he watches me. "How have you been?"

"Well," he says slowly, and for the first time I notice the tired note in his voice. My eyebrows draw together in the center, and I watch the way he moves; he seems slightly stiff, maybe sore.

"Sit," I tell him before he can continue. "You look beat. Lean against the house."

He hesitates before he does; I know he doesn't _want_ to seem weak, hurt, but I know he only just got done with a mission a couple of days ago. Whatever had happened, it hadn't been pretty. I take him in, just leaning there against my old house, his metal dented and scratched; I sigh, suddenly very worried for him. One of his legs is stretched flat on the ground, the other bent slightly at the knee, his arm resting on it as he watches me with a calm, affectionate expression.

I walk closer to him, trailing my fingers over his leg, taking in the scratches and gouges. He doesn't move to stop me, his eyes half-closed. I suddenly want to be closer to him. But, rather than asking him to lift me to his shoulder, I decide to get there myself.

I hoist myself up into his thigh, gently digging my fingers into the grooves in his metal, careful not to touch the wounds. He looks startled, watching me with a new intensity, his head tilted slightly to one side.

"What are you doing?"

"Climbing," I reply, crouching on his thigh for a moment, taking in the planes of his chest and arms, trying to figure out the best way to get to his shoulder. I'm suddenly smiling.

"I can lift you—"

"No," I say, "you're tired. It's okay; I want to do this myself. I've secretly always wanted to."

"Why?" He sounds completely confused.

"No idea."

Carefully edging around the scrapes, I make my way to his torso, leaning against it for support. With a wild grin I hook my fingers between the plates and pull myself up; his hand hovers just behind me, ready to catch me if I fall. It takes a few minutes and some blind grasping, but I finally make it to his chest, just below his shoulder.

Then I slip.

It's not exactly a _slip_, though; my hand slides between two of the plates and I slam against him, my arm slipping up to my elbow beneath the plates, brushing against _wires_ and _things_. For a moment I'm terrified I'm going to be electrocuted or something, but nothing happens. Nothing, that is, aside from Optimus stiffening and making a strange sound, something like a groan.

I pull my arm out, brushing more wires as he cups his hand around my body, holding me to his chest.

"Optimus?" I gasp worriedly. "Did I hurt you? I'm sorry, I—"

"No," he clears his throat, blinking. "That was—I—" He's spluttering. He seems, for a moment, just as startled as I am.

"What did I do? I'm sorry—"

"Don't apologize," he chuckles fondly. "You just…" he pauses thoughtfully. "I'm not sure how to explain it. What you touched are comparable to… nerve endings, perhaps. They're small _wires_, for lack of a better term, beneath our plating. They communicate sensation—"

"So, like… _neural wires?_" I offer.

"Yes, you could call them that."

"Did it hurt?"

"No," he laughs, and I'm relieved. "I'm sorry; sometimes I forget how naïve you are when it comes to our bodies. While they _do_ communicate pain, at times, gentle touches like yours are pleasurable."

"_Oh_," I say, remembering the noise he had made. I'm fascinated. "Do they ever get tangled?"

"They do—usually after strenuous activities, such as battles, or when one does too much transforming."

"Do they hurt?"

"When they're tangled? Yes; they're uncomfortable."

"Are they tangled _now?_" I ask.

"There are always tangles," he says dismissively. "They'll work themselves out."

"Hmm," I watch him for a moment, cupped comfortably against his chest. "Can I untangle them? Like, would that be possible?"

"Yes," he says slowly, watching me. "Normally, when they _don't_ work themselves out, the other Autbots will step in and help."

"But I'm smaller," I say eagerly, grinning again. "I bet I could do it better."

"Parker—"

"Can I try? If that's okay with you, I mean. I don't know much about this stuff. I don't want to molest you or anything."

"You won't be molesting me," he chuckles. "But you don't need to. They'll work themselves out, as I said."

"I want to try," I say firmly. "If it'll help you—if you're in pain…" I imagine it must feel like a cramp, and I _know_ how bad cramps and strained muscles hurt. "Please?"

I can tell he's tempted; he doesn't want to admit to the weakness, admit to needing help. But, at the same time, it's _obvious_ he's in pain. He looks down at my face for a long moment, then nods.

"That would be… nice," he says gently. "Thank you, Parker."

"Of course," I say. "Where does it hurt?"

"Don't try too hard," he warns. "If you cannot reach them, then don't." Another moment of hesitation before he rotates his right shoulder stiffly; "It's rather painful there."

He helps me onto his shoulder; I use the motion lights outside the house to help me see, but it doesn't really help that much. It's all dark beneath his plating.

"Tell me when I'm close," I say, sliding my hand slowly over the metal. He stops me halfway to his shoulder joint.

"There," he says, and I dip my fingers beneath the plates, sliding the tips lightly along the wires—I wonder what they _really_ are. "To the left—just slightly—there." I feel it, a small tangle, the wires pulled taut as opposed to the others, which are generally more flexible. I slide my fingers over the tightened wires, into the looping tangles, searching blindly.

"Tell me if I hurt you," I tell him. He shakes his head.

"You're not," he murmurs; his voice is rough. His eyes are closed. It takes a few moments of gentle touching and prodding, but finally I'm able to fix the twisted mass; he tries unsuccessfully to stifle a small groan. I smile.

"Where else?"

He guides me through a few more places on his chest, his shoulders, even a couple on his legs; he's constantly asking me if I want to stop, doesn't want to put me out. But, as the time passes, he seems less and less willing to make me quit. I've worked around to his back, now, balancing very carefully as he leans far forward on his knees. But, because he's sitting on the ground, I'm not too high up, and I'm not afraid of falling.

I'm a quick learner, thankfully, and now he only has to point me to the general area before I find the knots. They're easy to pick out once I know what to look for. His body is _completely_ relaxed, his breathing deep. I've managed to crack the "serious leader" mask a couple of times, eliciting a few gasps and breathless little groans as I untangle the more troublesome, painful neural wires. The longer this has gone on, the more I've noticed the serious leader mask peeling away.

He sighs as I work through a particularly difficult knot between the plates that would be his shoulder blades. The closest thing I can think to compare this to is a massage, in some ways; I've just been working out the kinks and the sore spots, and it obviously feels good for him. And, okay, I know it's really _nothing_ like a massage, but the basic idea is the same.

I don't care what it is. I'm just glad I'm helping him, making him feel better.

"Thank you," he breathes when I'm done, reaching around and lifting me off of his back, holding me in his hand, where I sit, my legs dangling off the edge. I smile and trace my fingers over his palm, rolling down my sweatshirt sleeves. It's cold out here with no pants on (neither of us has mentioned the lack of clothing), but his metal is still fairly warm. I fold my legs up into his palm.

"Everyone thinks you're so tough," I tease him. "But all anyone has to do is pet you right, and look at you; you're a puddle of _goo_."

"I believe," he sighs, resting against the house, "that you could melt _Ironhide_ into a 'puddle of goo,' were you to administer him the same affections you've just shown me." He smiles gently. "With a touch like yours, you could have the entire Decepticon army trembling at your feet."

I wiggle my fingers in a teasingly threatening way as he tucks me against his shoulder. "I've got the magic touch," I say. "Good to know." He chuckles, but his laugh cuts off with an abrupt gasp as I dip my fingers beneath his plates again, gently touching the wires.

"_Parker,_" he gasps, and I laugh softly, removing my hand.

"I think I've just found myself a weapon," I tell him. He rumbles lowly, surprising me by pressing me against the side of his face with a hand and nuzzling into me.

"I truly have missed you," he murmurs. I trail my hands over his mouth; his eyes are closed, so I stretch up to kiss his forehead.

"You're being really affectionate tonight," I tell him. "Not that I'm complaining."

"You seem have that effect on me," he rumbles, practically purring. I love it.

"Dang," I sigh, curling closer to his face; he still is pressing me there with his hand. "I'm going to have to do this more often."

"Please do," he rumbles, giving me a playful look as he opens his eyes. We lean in and touch out foreheads together, one of the most intimate forms of Cybertronian affection. My heart swells. I'd missed this—I'd missed _him_.

"I'm sorry you're hurting," I tell him, my voice faintly sad as I rub my fingers over a scratch on his shoulder.

"Trust me," he says, "I am not feeling much pain right now."

I kiss his forehead and he closes his eyes. "Glad I could help."

Part of me had dreaded that it would be awkward between us, considering everything that had happened before I'd left—the kissing, for example. The confession of _feelings_. But it's anything _but_ awkward. If anything, we're even more affectionate. I guess that old cliché is true: absence makes the heart grow fonder.

"Should you be wearing more clothing?" he finally asks; his tone suggests that he knows I should be.

"I wasn't expecting you," I tell him. "I can change, if you want. I didn't really think about it. If it makes you uncomfortable—"

"It doesn't," he assures me. "Our cultures are different—while I know that nakedness is a taboo for your kind, to us, we simply see it as a human's natural state." I remember Mudflap lying on my bed, innocently inquiring as to whether or not I was naked under the towel. "That isn't to say that it's not _distracting_…"

"Hm," I say. "Okay, question, and I'm not fishing for compliments or anything; this is an honest question. Do you find human bodies attractive?"

"Parker," he says gently, tucking me against his face again. "I am attracted to _you_—who you are as a human being. That was what drew me to you in the first place."

"Oh." Do I sound disappointed? He laughs softly.

"Of course," he says, his voice teasing, "despite the differences in our cultures, it's hard not to recognize physical beauty when it _parades_ itself so openly in front of you. So, in answer to your question: I find you very attractive. Painfully, distractingly so."

"Oh," I say, trying and failing to keep my voice neutral. "You know, you're not too bad yourself."

"If memory serves," he says, "I believe I was a ten, on your scale."

I laugh, and he laughs with me. "That sounds about right."

After a while, Optimus tilts his face slightly, inhaling through his nose. He looks puzzled. "Is something _burning?_"

I gasp. "My cake!"

**NOTE: Okay, so the whole wire-untangling thing wasn't really meant to be sexual. Keep in mind that he said the Autobots will do it for each other, so for them, it's obviously not sexual. However, it **_**is**_** pleasurable, like a massage, and for OP and Parker, it sort of has a different, more intimate meaning… it's a way of bonding, making him feel good, I guess.**

**Reviews? Thanks! I love this chapter, what did you all think?**

**Again, sorry for typos. My computer is also about to die and I have no power. So I decided to post while I could!**


	35. Chapter 35

**NOTE: Pay attention to what Parker mentions is written on her walls—the specific lyrics, I mean. They reveal a lot about her, and a lot about what is to come. :D**

**Fluff ahead; Parker teaches him a little more. This chapter is slightly longer because I wanted to get all the fluff out of the way here, rather than splitting it up. The next chapter will address more serious things (GASP!). Time to move the plot along!**

**Review please?  
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Chapter 35

Well, shit.

The cake's a goner. I'd run inside to find the poor cake blackened and dried up and rock solid; the two layers are now nothing more than two oversized hockey pucks. I toss them down on the stove, the pans clattering noisily, and I open up the kitchen window above the sink, both to let out the nasty smelling air and to be able to better see Optimus. Because the music is too loud now to hear him, I run back to the stereo and turn it down before running back into the kitchen, eager to be in his presence again.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah," I say, leaning against the sink casually; I can't see his face, just portions of his body. I push up off the sink and head out to him, leaning against his leg; he strokes my hair with a finger, nudging my body affectionately. I grab onto the finger and squeeze it; he lifts me playfully and lightly off the ground, my legs dangling before plopping me down into his palm. I laugh softly, but his metal is cooling, chilling my bare legs. Again, I notice al the dents, the chipped paint, the rough scratches in his armor.

"Optimus," I murmur, running my fingers over the rough edges of his fingertips; they'd clearly been through some sort of trauma. "What _happened_ to you?"

"There were complications," he says offhandedly.

"_Complications,_" I echo. "As in Decepticons?" He sighs; he seems uncomfortable talking about it in front of me, which makes me wonder: "Who was it, Optimus? Who did this to you?"

"I'm fine," he says.

"You look like you lost a battle with a—a car crusher!" His lips tip up slightly, a subtle smile as he nudges my chin with a finger. "Who did this to you?" I ask again.

"No one of any importance," he says hesitantly. "I wasn't familiar with them; they're rogues, most likely, considering Megatron is out of commission. The Decepticon ranks seem to be suffering for it."

"Are they dead?" I sense his hesitation, and it kind of irritates me. Why won't he tell me? Does he suspect that, deep down, I still love them?

"They are," he finally says, and looks at me carefully.

"Good," I murmur, and he blinks; I drop it. I wonder who they were, though I doubt I knew them. It doesn't matter. I don't love them anymore.

"Forgive me," he murmurs a moment later, his tone grudging. "But—I must ask. We need to know; do you have any idea where Megatron is hiding?"

My temper flares slightly; does he honestly think I would hide that from him? _Would_ I hide that from him? I don't know, and it only makes me angrier. No, I decide. If I knew, I wouldn't tell him—simply because I dread the day when he and Megatron face off.

"I don't," I say honestly, shaking my head. I shiver; he notices and tucks me close to his chest, where it's warm. He cups his hands around me, locking the heat in.

"I'm sorry," he says as I shudder at the warmth, tucking my body against the warm metal. "I had to ask."

"It's okay," I breathe, rubbing my hand up and down on the plating, feeling the little scrapes against my palms. "I'm freezing," I say, in spite of his warmth. "Want to come inside?"

He's quiet for a moment. "This is your home."

I open my mouth to tell him that, no, this is _not_ in fact, my home. But I don't. Instead I say, "Yeah, I grew up here. Why?"

"You would have me in?"

"Why not?"

"It just seems… deeply… private," he says slowly. I smile.

"You can come in," I tell him. "Just—you're going to have to use the holoform, though, sorry. I don't think _you_ are gonna fit."

"I sincerely doubt it," he chuckles. "Go inside, then, and I'll meet you when the holoform is ready."

"Sure thing, boss," I say, grinning and bounding into the warmth of the house as he sets me down. Casting a glance over my shoulder, I catch sight of the Peterbilt—it's beat to hell.

I leave the door open behind me so that he can walk in when he's ready. I start off trying to clean up the kitchen, but give up in a matter of seconds, deciding I don't really care.

"Parker?"

I poke my head around the kitchen entryway and find him standing in the doorway, hesitant; he hasn't stepped foot in the house yet. He's wearing dark jeans and a snuggish white t-shirt. My jaw drops, but it's not because of his simple outfit. It's because of the way he _looks_.

I don't think I've ever seen someone look more like hell. Honestly. His eyes are dark-rimmed, bruised, his posture tired. There are deep, violent gouges in his arms; they're damp-looking, but they're not oozing blood or anything. His skin is raw in some places, scraped off, probably a representation of shipped paint. Bruises here and there, and, on his chest are a few shallow cuts; I can see them through the white fabric.

"What…" I don't even know what to say as I approach him. His short hair is mussed, and a tired stubbly shadow lines his jaw. I hadn't even known he could _have_ stubble. His mouth tips up into a soft, tired smile; there's a cut in his lower lip, slightly off center.

"I… couldn't do anything about it," he says, gesturing awkwardly at the body. "The holoform—it directly reflects the _real_ me, wounds and all." He looks at me apologetically. "I can dismiss it, if you like."

"No, no," I say quickly. "It's fine, it's just… _wow_." If _he_ had come back so beat up, how had the others fared? "Is it always like this?"

"War is brutal, Parker. I will heal."

I think about Megatron's face, and the wounds there. _They_ hadn't healed. I wonder what he would look like as a holoform.

"Are you _sure?_"

"With proper care, I will heal."

"And the stubble? I didn't know you could do that."

He rubs his jaw, the stubble making a scratchy sound against his skin. It suddenly occurs to me that I very badly want to feel that stubble against _my_ skin. I push the thought back.

"I've been a little behind on personal maintenance," he says, "that is all. There are more important things to consider."

With a soft sigh I shake my head and reach for him, wrapping a hand around his wrist and pulling him inside before closing the door behind him. I'd lived with the Decepticons long enough to know what war does to a person—or robot—both physically and mentally. I'd thought I'd been used to it. Now, though… I don't want to get used to this. I don't like seeing him like this, robot _or_ human. I wrap my arms carefully around his torso, locking my hands together and letting them rest at the small of his back. He embraces me, gently, using one hand to press my head against his heated chest, his thumb tracing patterns in my hair.

"I'm not fragile, you know," he tells me with some amusement, giving me a firm squeeze. "You can't break me."

I want to say, _If only you knew,_ but I keep my mouth shut against the dark thoughts that seem to be constantly present lately. "I know," I say, "but still." I squeeze him a little tighter, still careful, before I draw away. I watch as he looks curiously around the inside of the house. I show him around a little, mainly just the living room before I lead him into the kitchen, setting him up at a barstool at the center island across from where I'm mixing.

"What are you doing?"

"Baking," I say, then give the hockey puck cake a dark look. "Or trying to, anyway."

He watches me quietly, for the most part, as I throw things in the mixing bowl, only speaking to ask questions here and there. I'm stirring the thick mix of dough and tasting it when a particularly good song comes on. I don't realize I'm doing it, but I start _sort of_ dancing, mostly just swinging my hips and swaying my shoulders to the beat, using my hips to close drawers as I dance from one spot to another.

"Why do you do that?" Immediately, I freeze.

"Do what?"

"Dance," he says. He's leaning against the counter top, still perched on the stool, his arms folded flat on the counter and his chin rested on them. He looks so damn cute and curious for a second that I want to just go pet him, but I resist the urge.

"I didn't realize I was," I say quickly. "Is it annoying? I can stop—"

"Of course not," he says quickly, tilting his head to one side. "It is not annoying in the least. In fact, I find it amusing and—endearing."

"Oh," I say, returning to the mix. "I don't know why I do. I don't realize I'm doing it. I always used to; you know, _before_. But when I moved in with the 'Cons, I just stopped."

"Why?"

I shrug. "Megs—uh, _Megatron_—he thought it was annoying."

He makes a low grunting sound, and I decide right then to stop talking about this. I also make a mental effort not to dance anymore. I guess, after I'd been freed from the Decepticons, even in the small way, initially, my dancing for the first time with the twins had been a form of rebellion. I hadn't realized it at the time, but it's pretty clear to me now.

Optimus suddenly chuckles, stirring me from my thoughts. I glance curiously up at him, and he brushes a finger over his nose. "You have flour," he says, then brushes his cheek. I dust my hands furiously over my face, which makes him laugh a little more. After a moment, I'm rolling the dough into balls, setting them up on the cookie sheet, and he's glancing curiously around at the house again seeming completely intrigued.

I slide the cookies into the oven and wash my hands before sauntering over to him. "We have twelve minutes," I say. "How 'bout a tour of the house?"

He smiles and slides off the barstool. "You really grew up here?"

"Yeah," I say wistfully.

"Show me," he says.

I groan, but agree, figuring I can skip over the family pictures. Let's face it; _no one_ wants to look at those, and anyone who seems interested is just pretending. I _hate_ looking at pictures of other people, particularly their childhood photos. But maybe that's me. I'm really not all that sentimental. I won't put either of us through that.

Optimus, of course, if far too observant for his own good—or mine, really. As I skirt carefully around the fireplace, where the pictures are nestled cozily in their frames, he walks right toward them, curiosity etched into his face.

"No," I moan. But before I can stop him, he's picked on up, holding it gently, as though afraid of shattering the glass.

"Who are these people?"

I peer over his shoulder at the picture; it's an old photo of mom and dad. My stomach curls. My dad is in his military uniform, holding my mother. Now that I look at it, it's a lot like the picture Savannah had shown me of him and Ronnie.

"They're my parents," I say.

He looks at it harder, as though concentrating. "You have your father's features," he finally says, looking at me.

He has _no idea_ how happy that makes me. Dad and I had been close. His death had really hurt. I can feel Optimus's eyes searching my face, so I smile a little and blink away the tears before they can come.

"Thanks," I say, my voice strong and steady. He casts a lingering look at me face before he grabs another picture from the back, replacing the first. I really hope we won't be here long. I'm _so_ not in the mood for a stroll down memory lane.

"And these people?" He asks. I glance at the photo, a picture of a middle aged black man and black woman.

"My grandparents, I guess."

"Where are they now?"

"Dunno. Dead?" I shrug, and he looks puzzled. "They ditched us."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean they abandoned my parents. So did my mom's parents. They were really old fashioned."

"I don't understand."

"It's a race thing, Optimus," I sigh, shaking my head. "My dad was black, my mom was white. No one approved. So when they insisted on being together, they got the boot." He looks at me as though he thinks I might be joking. When the punch line doesn't come, he looks mildly disgusted.

"Remember when I told you that people suck?" I ask him, and he nods. "This is what I mean. People are horrible, disgusting, _evil_ creatures, Optimus. We murder. We rape. We enslave. We hate. There's genocide still going on today. I think you're the _only_ one who sees any good in us, anything worth saving." He gingerly puts the photo back. "Anyway, the first time I met Grandma and Grandpa Rook was at Daddy—_er_, _my dad's_—funeral. First and last time. They didn't have much interest in Savannah or me."

God, I'm such a mood killer. I watch as he lifts another photo, and a smile slowly comes to his bruised, tired face.

"What's this?"

"Ugh," I groan. It's a photo of me and Savannah at our sixth birthday party. When it had come time to blow out the candles, _I_ had thought it would be _hilarious_ if I shoved Savannah's face into the cake. I'd been right, of course. Everyone had laughed, except for Savannah. In the picture, I'm laughing hysterically; Savannah's face is covered in cake, and he's crying. Optimus laughs as I explain the picture.

"Ever the troublemaker," he says, shaking his head and replacing the picture.

"Born bad," I laugh.

He looks through the other photos—milestones, mostly. My high school graduation. Prom—I'd gone with a boy named Scott my junior year, one of Savannah's friends, and I'd gone alone senior year. The day I'd gotten my license is also in there somewhere, as well as a few pictures of me and my dad, my and mom, Savannah…

Finally, he seems content, and I lead him to the stairs. On the way there, he notices the notches in the doorframe, marking our heights. He seems fascinated when I tell him about the ritual, even if he doesn't understand it. He trails his fingers over the notches in the wood, finally allowing me to tow him upstairs, to the bedrooms.

I don't take him inside Ronnie's or Savannah's or my parents' rooms, because they're not mine to show. Instead, I lead him into mine. Before I can, however, Boo, as loyal and protective as ever (and I mean that with total sarcasm) bolts out of Ronnie's room, apparently having only just noticed Optimus's presence. Snarling, he limps toward Optimus, who goes very still. Boo's never, ever looks so menacing; his lips are peeled back from his teeth, his ears flat against his skull, his eyes evil slits. Every hair on his black body is standing on end; he's completely rigid.

"Boo, _no_," I say. "_Bad dog. Bad._ Leave the robot alone, Boo!" Boo, of course, ignores me, cornering Optimus. I sigh. "Just kick him, Optimus. He'll learn."

Optimus doesn't move. He doesn't look scared—in fact, he looks patient, understanding. With a groan, I grab Boo's collar and haul him into Ronnie's room, locking him in. He whines. "Stupid dog," I mutter as Optimus relaxes. "You okay?"

"Of course," he says. "I've seen far worse things than an angry dog."

"I'm sure," I say, casting a significant look at his wounds; there's a ring on his left forearm that specifically looks like bite marks. That, or he got it caught in a nasty bear trap, but that seems unlikely.

I open my bedroom door and stand there awkwardly for a moment, suddenly very nervous.

"Well," I say. "This is my room."

It's changed a lot since I first came back. The walls are covered in posters of old bands and new bands alike—Nirvana, Alice Cooper, Aerosmith, Whitesnake, Bon Jovi, Guns 'n Roses, Linkin Park, 30 Seconds to Mars—and there's a corkboard in one corner with a bunch of magazine cutouts and drawings stuck to it. The plain white sheets had been replaced with zebra print; black and white is the general theme of the room with hints of red here and there.

"So," I say, "that's the bed. That's the closet. That's the _window_," I say with a growl. "I've spent my whole life terrified of this window."

"Why?" He glances at it, at the tree outside.

"I've always been afraid of monsters climbing in," I tell him. "It's silly now, but it still scares me."

"It's not silly," he says, his voice quiet. I know he's thinking the same thing as me; it's not silly, because monsters are very real.

I rub the back of my neck awkwardly. I hope he likes it. This room is an extension of myself; it's the first real thing I'd put time into since I'd been freed. Please let him like it.

"What do you think?" I finally ask.

"It reminds me of you," he says simply, nodding. "It's different. Not what I had expected. But I like it."

I move to sit on the bed, allowing him to look around, relieved. He pauses every now and then to take in the words written on my wall, my favorite one-liner song lyrics, with the bands written beside them:

"_Sold my soul to heaven and to hell"—30stm  
>"This is not the end, this is not the beginning"—LP<br>"There is simply nothing worse than knowing how it ends"—Panicthedisco  
>"Chase your shadow til the sun goes down"—Sia<br>"I am not a born leader, I'm a tough act to follow"—linkin park  
>"I'm a suspect, I'm a traitor"—Jimmy Eat World<br>"One night of the hunter, one day I will get revenge. One night of the hunter, one day it'll all just end"—30STM_ (Written beside a 30 Seconds to Mars poster)  
><em>"Save a horse, ride a cowboy!"—Big &amp; Rich<br>"Whatever you do, don't be afraid of the dark"—30 seconds to mars _(This written above my window)

Unfortunately, some of them have a darker feel—such as the one about revenge, the night of the hunter. And selling my soul to heaven and to hell. I hope he doesn't notice these, because I'd written them because they helped me cope with what I was going through with the Autobots and Decepticons. He doesn't ask about them, though, so I don't mention them.

Eventually, he sits beside me on the bed, which startles me slightly before I realize he must be oblivious to social customs where boys and girls and beds are concerned. Especially when boys and girls who are _attracted_ to each other are concerned. I don't mind, of course, as he sits next to me, staring around the room before turning to me, an exhausted smile on his face.

"You look so tired," I tell him gently, leaning my shoulder carefully against his. He rests his chin on top of my head briefly.

"I am," he says, his voice thick with exhaustion. I think of the night I'd interrupted his sleep after having been pranked by the twins and Bumblebee—he'd sounded just as tired then.

"Maybe you should get some rest," I say, finally unable to resist touching his hair. He leans into the touch.

"No," he says. "I don't know when I'll be able to come here again. I refuse to waste this time sleeping."

"Oh," I say. "That's sweet, Optimus, but I really think—"

His index finger against my mouth silences me, smudging my mouth slightly. I grin and look up at him, but he doesn't remove the finger. His eyes are focused on it, or maybe on my mouth, but I'm not sure. Their glow draws me in, illuminates his finger; the tips are raw, like the scratches on his _real_ fingers. On the _real_ him.

"Are you cold outside?" I ask lowly, guilt nagging at me. He shakes his head.

"Stop thinking about that."

I sigh as he runs his raw finger over my lips. I catch his wrist in my hand and kiss the tip of the finger gently, boldly. His eyes slide shut for a moment before he gently grabs the back of my neck and presses our foreheads together. I nuzzle mine against his and he sighs heavily—not quite a groan, but almost. He seems completely content to just sit here and Cybertron-kiss me and, to be honest, I'm just as content. I love being near him like this. To hopefully increase whatever pleasure he's getting out of his kiss, I slide one hand up into his hair, playing with it idly. I feel him sigh against my lips, pressing more firmly against me, cupping my face in his hands.

I smile as he brushes his mouth over mine, almost accidentally in his attempts to get closer. I'm suddenly craving the feel of his stubble against my skin. I wait, _hope_ for him to initiate the human kiss, but my hopes are dashed every time our mouths brush and he does nothing about it. It's like some sort of torture, but I don't mention it, thinking that, maybe, he doesn't want to kiss me like that. A moment later, though, he proves me wrong.

"I'm not going to initiate your kiss," he informs me, "if that's what you're waiting for."

"Hmm?" I ask distractedly.

"Human kissing; it is _your_ kiss to initiate. I don't know how."

"I wasn't sure if you wanted to." His eyes are closed.

"Of course I want t—"

I don't let him finish; the rest of his words are jumbled against my mouth. I feel him smile against my lips and I let my eyes fall shut as I grip his hair, tilting his head to one side as I kiss him—still gently, still carefully, because he's still new at it. We combine the two forms of kissing, making sure it's just as pleasant for both of us, occasionally breaking away to brush or touch foreheads before locking lips again.

I don't realize I'm breathing heavily; I don't realize I've got a good grip on the back of his neck, or that my other hand is twisted into his short hair; all I'm aware of his the feeling of _his_ hand in _my_ hair, exploring, trying to get the motion down right. I don't come to my senses again until the oven beeps demandingly from downstairs, making us both jump.

_Then_ I realize how heavily I'm breathing, how intensely I'd been holding him. But, for the record, he's breathing heavily too, and his hands had been just as right. He makes a startled noise as I steal another quick kiss before standing, drawing him with me downstairs as I remove the cookies—which I'm intensely _uninterested_ in, now.

I'd been right in my earlier observation about him being very affectionate tonight. As I stand there, peeling the soft cookies from the sheet, waiting for them to cool, I feel his presence behind me, his warmth radiating; he places a large hand gently on my shoulder. Our bodies are just brushing as he leans curiously over my shoulder, watching what I'm doing.

I smile to myself, twisting to look over my shoulder and giving him a quick peck; I adore the startled look on his face every time I do this.

"What are you doing?" I laugh as his arms slip around me. I gasp as he lifts me off the ground, burying his face in my neck, my back to his chest.

"Being affectionate," he rumbles playfully into my skin, and I laugh again. "What?" He says innocently in my ear. "I don't know when I'll get to do this again. I'm seizing the day."

"Carpe diem?"

"Noctem," he corrects, and I elbow him gently.

"Go away," I laugh, wiggling free of his grasp. "You're a distraction. I've got things to do, you bug."

I run a hand over his head and he closes his eyes, leaning into my touch. I'm reminded of just how much Skids loves it when I play with his hair. I give his hair the softest of tugs and he makes a soft sound in return.

"Go wait on the couch," I tell him. "I'll be there in a minute."

He obeys and after I slip in the new cookies, I sit beside him on the couch. I fold my legs beneath me and order him to rest his head in my lap, which he does. I play with his hair as he lies on his back, his eyes closing. The holoform flickers a couple of times, and I realize I must be putting him to sleep. I smile.

"I'm glad I came here," he mumbles tiredly. "It's wrong, and it's selfish, but I am glad."

"Good," I tell him. I hadn't missed the guilt in his voice. "What if I come see you next time? That way you won't feel bad."

"That would be wonderful."

I smile as I continue to rub his head and play in his hair. I bend down a couple of times to press a soft, languid kiss to his lips; this one lazy and entirely affectionate. I pull away before he can kiss me back; he's still a little slow on the uptake. We spend a lot of time like that; him resting, not quite asleep, me soothing him and kissing him occasionally. The holoform continues to flicker, and while I'm afraid I might lose him to sleep, I won't stop him, either. In fact, I'm falling asleep too…

Time must have passed; I don't remember it. My eyelids are heavy, my head foggy, my legs numb from his head and being folded beneath me. I'm not sure what woke me up. I blink a couple of times; my hands are splayed in his hair, and my back is sore; I'd slumped forward slightly. Optimus blinks open his eyes in confusion. His brow furrows and he tilts his head, his nose wrinkling.

"Do you smell that?"

"_Goddammit!"_

He lifts his head and I spring from the couch and into the kitchen to rescue the cookies. But it's too late; there's no hope for them. They're black little hockey pucks, just like the cake. I sigh sadly, letting them clatter onto the stove to cool before I toss them out.

"You're not particularly good at that, are you?"

"Normally I am," I say, giving him a pointed look as he slides casually up behind me. He rests both hands on my shoulders. "But _you_ keep distracting me."

"My apologies," he says, his voice far too serious to be _really_ serious. I bump him with a hip and he chuckles.

A moment later I gasp softly as his hands squeeze my shoulders, the pleasurable sensation shooting down my spine. I immediately tense up. "What are you—?"

"I'm returning the favor," he says, his voice full of concentration. "From earlier." He must be talking about me untwisting his wires. "But I'm not quite sure how to—" His words halt as he presses against a spot on my shoulder blade and I make a soft, _tiny_, embarrassing little moaning sound. "Ah," he says. But before he can do anymore, I spin around, leaning back against the counter. Something, something very dark and engrained very deeply into me, where I can't quite reach it, doesn't _want_ him rubbing my back, making me feel good like that, no matter how badly I may need it. But the look on his face tells me he doesn't understand, which is good. I don't understand it either. I just know I can't let him. I know it'd be wrong.

Instead, I cup my hand along his jaw, feeling the sharp pricks of his stubble there. Again, I'm suddenly craving the feeling of it against my face, as I hadn't quite gotten it earlier. Those kisses had been too light, too gentle. I rub my hand over his jaw, watching him watch me curiously.

"Did I do it wrong?" he finally asks, and I laugh, shaking my head.

"Not at all," I tell him, tracing my thumb in a circle. "I'm just more interested in… in _kissing_ you, at the moment."

He smiles softly, looking slightly embarrassed, but pleased all the same. He takes a couple of steps closer and dips his head; I press up and slide my mouth over his, tugging his head closer. After a while, though, it just isn't enough. I can taste the raw, metallic taste of his cut lip as I slide my tongue over it. He gasps through his nose, confused.

"Optimush," I murmur against his mouth, pulling away slightly. He closes the distance, pressing his forehead to mine. "Open your mouth this time. I want to teach you something else." He nods wordlessly. "But tell me if you don't like it." Another nod.

I start kissing him again, gently at first, then with a little more heat. I lick his lower lip again, and this time he opens his mouth a little. I slide my tongue in just a little, just the tip very slightly past his lips, and he makes a startled sound. I walk him through it patiently, instructing him to do as I do, which he does. Our tongues touch very softly—nothing too intense just yet, because I'm still teaching him, because he's still new to the sensations.

After a while, he draws away, looking troubled. I stare up at him, licking my lips. "Human tongues—they're so difficult," he muses.

"You'll get the hang of it. Practice makes perfect."

"Indeed."

"We can stop, if you want."

But he shakes his head, determined to learn this. So I lean into him again, kissing him; he's bolder this time, and I can feel him growing more confident. His stubble scratches deliciously against my face, and I pull him tighter at the feeling; it's rough, almost painful, but not quite. I wrap my arms around him, tilting his face as I brush my cheek over his, my forehead to his, before I kiss him again.

The kiss isn't really intense—I'm determined to keep it from growing too intense before he's ready. For now, it's all about learning and teaching and, hopefully, there's a little pleasure involved in it for him. I know there is for me. The fact that he's drawn away only to breathe tips me off that he's probably enjoying himself.

We must be more into it than I thought, our attentions entirely focused one each other. Optimus groans and wriggles as I bite and suck on his lower lip. His hand at my waist clutches the fabric of my sweatshirt, drawing me against him.

"This is—quite pleasurable," he says breathily in my ear as I separate for air.

"This is going easy," I tell him teasingly before we both lean into each other simultaneously.

That's how my brother finds us; my arms around his neck, our lips locked in a semi-deep kiss, me without pants on, his hands, one on my hip, the other on my jaw, tilting my face. We don't notice him or Ronnie, which is what makes me think we're completely dead to the world, focused entirely on each other and the growing intensity of the kiss.

"_Optimus?_"

We both jump, our lips separating noisily as we whirl around. Savannah and Ronnie are standing just inside the kitchen; Ronnie is beaming, her eyes red from crying, and she looks slightly confused and embarrassed. Savannah looks like he might be sick.

"Savannah!" I gasp. I look at the clock; it's 2:00 am. "I—we—"

"I knew it," he says lowly.

"Savannah," Optimus says, standing up straight as we disentangle ourselves. Surprisingly, he doesn't look embarrassed. "I am sorry that you had to—"

"I don't want to hear it," he says, shaking his head, his eyes flickering back and forth between us. "Really?" He asks in disbelief. Ronnie shifts uncomfortably, and at the movement, Savannah seems to snap out of it. He smiles at her adoringly, though his eyes are still tense, and her smile is even brighter.

"Uh," I say, stepping forward. I can feel Savannah taking note of my lack of pants. I step protectively in front of Optimus. "What's with the smiles?"

Beaming, bouncing slightly, tears welling in her eyes, Ronnie holds up her left hand. I spot the ring there. I gasp and Ronnie squeals.

"We're getting married!" She sings, her voice ecstatic as she launches into me, hugging me tightly. I hug her back.

"Congratulations," I say, startled. But I can't keep the smile off my face. Savannah looks _so happy_. I smile at him, and he returns it. I separate from Ronnie to hug him, and as I do, he murmurs in my ear:

"_We need to talk."_

"Let it go," I whisper. "Please."

"Parker, you're not even the same species—"

He stops suddenly as Ronnie comes over to him. He releases me and I step back to Optimus. Smiling, obviously in love, Ronnie stretches up to kiss him; she's so tiny in comparison to us. I groan at the sight of my brother kissing her, but they ignore me.

I turn to Optimus sheepishly.

"The drive back to base will not be pleasant," he says.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

"It was worth it." I smile and stretch up, brushing my forehead briefly against his. My cheeks and jaw are wonderfully sore from his stubble. He trails a thumb over the places, noting the red skin that is probably there. I kiss his thumb, and Savannah clears his throat.

This is _so_ awkward.

"We should probably go," Savannah says to Optimus. "I wasn't planning on anyone being _up_. I was just dropping Ronnie off."

"Of course," Optimus says, straightening his spine and nodding. I sigh sadly, giving Savannah a dirty look. Ronnie and I walk them to the front door, where we say our goodbyes.

"I'll see you," I tell Optimus. "And I'll come to you next time, remember."

"I'm counting on it," he says gently. I run my palm over his forehead before he returns the gesture. A moment later I slip into his arms, pressing an innocent kiss against his throat.

"I will miss you," he says.

"I'm gonna miss you, too," I tell him, squeezing his hand. Finally I let him go, and Savannah gives him a hard look.

"It was nice meeting you," he tells Ronnie. "And congratulations on your engagement."

"Thank you," she breathes earnestly. He gives us a polite nod before he walks around to the truck, climbing in. Savannah hugs me next.

"You are both dead," he hisses in my ear.

"Savannah, leave it alone," I hiss back.

"You're a piece of work, you know that?"

"I've been told. Let it go."

He grumbles something unintelligible as I let him go and he turns to Ronnie. I block them out, heading into the kitchen as they kiss and say their goodbyes. I wait by the window with Optimus, both of us silent for a moment before I speak.

"Tonight was fun," I tell him. "Thanks for coming."

"Of course," he says, his low voice even lower since there are people around.

"Take care of yourself," I tell him. "I mean it."

"Consider it done," he says, his tone amused. Our conversation stops as Savannah climbs inside of him. Optimus starts the engine.

"Bye, Optimus."

"Goodbye, Parker."


	36. Chapter 36

**NOTE: Finally we get to the darker plot shift in this story. Anyway, this chapter was posted quickly and is short simply because it's what I like to call a **_**bridge**_**. Introducing something else that will be handled more thoroughly in later chapters. And, because a few weeks have passed since the last chapter's events, I included Savannah's TALK.**

**I like the eerie feel, though. Reviews get faster updates! I totally freaked myself out writing the end of this, because I'm sitting alone, at 1 in the morning, by my open window... GAH!  
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Chapter 36

Technophobia. Defined as the fear or dislike of advanced technology.

Paranoia: extreme and unreasonable suspicion of other people and their motives.

At the moment, I'm suffering from both. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Savannah had called the day after he had walked in on me and Optimus making out. And boy, had I gotten an earful.

"Are you insane?" He had demanded, none too gently.

"You so don't want to get into this with me."

"Parker, _really_. Has it even _occurred_ to either of you that you're _not the same species?_ He's a thirty-two foot tall alien robot who can transform into a truck, runs on Energron, is God only knows how many years old, and is pretty much immortal. _You_, on the other hand, are a five-nine little human girl, you transform into _nothing_, you're twenty years old, and every minute of your short, short life, you're dying. Not to mention that _the parts don't fit!_"

"Savannah!"

"It's true, Parker, and you know it. What are you planning on doing with this? You're only going to get hurt, and so is he. Nothing good will come of this."

"You sound a little racist to me."

"Low blow," he'd snapped into the phone. "This has nothing to do with race. I'm _the last_ person who has any right to be racist or prejudiced. This isn't about _that_. It's about how logical this thing is."

"Savannah—"

"Hear me out," he'd continued, his voice softening slightly. "Listen, P, I like him. Honestly. And it's not just because he's not human. It's because this _can't_ work, and I don't want to see you hurt. Did you know they do this thing called Sparkbonding?"

"Yeah." I hadn't given it much thought.

"What are you going to do if he falls so deeply for you that he wants to Sparkbond? You don't have a Spark. And what about interfacing? That's sex, in case you didn't know. Do I need to mention, yet again, that the parts just don't work?"

"Okay, first of all, this isn't about _sex_. Second—"

"It's not _right now_," he'd corrected. "Eventually, you're going to want to have sex with him, Parker. It's natural. So what's going to happen then?"

"I dunno," I'd growled. The subject of _sex_ had never really been something Savannah or I had been embarrassed about. Of course, we didn't discuss our sex lives, but conversations like this we'd always been able to have openly. "The holoform?"

"The holoform," he snorts. "_That's_ healthy. But, fine, okay, let's say that works. Let's say you two have sex." He'd seemed to choke on the word slightly, as though he didn't want to think of his sister having sex with a robot. I couldn't blame him. "Let's say you work that out. Parker, these Autobots… they live forever. And right now, you're in the beginning stages, and I'm sure you're both thinking this will work out fine. But, in the end, _you know it won't_. You'll have to break it off. And guess what? You'll both get hurt, because you can't be together. He'll outlive you for millions of years. He's way older than you, and he's going to keep living. You're not."

"I don't want to talk about this. God, Savannah, it's not like we're getting married. This thing—I don't know what it is. There's not even a label yet!"

"Parker," he'd said my name so gently. "I'm glad that you're happy with him. You know that, right? And I really don't have a problem with _him_. I just need you to understand… this just seems _stupid_ to me. You're only asking for trouble."

"Savannah, we'll work it out. I don't know where this is going, and I'm not planning on discussing it with him, either—"

"Well, lucky for you, I discussed it with him."

"You didn't."

"I did," Savannah had sighed heavily. "And he… agrees with me."

My heart had sunk. "Oh." Maybe I'd been far more invested in whatever this thing between us was. Maybe he didn't feel the same way, not entirely.

"Yeah," Savannah had sounded frustrated. "He agrees with me on the logics of it. But he's respectfully informed me that he wouldn't be backing down unless you request it of him." I'd gotten the feeling that Savannah had been quoting him. I could almost hear Optimus saying those words. "I'd asked him about your mortality. He'd said he would do anything in his power to keep you alive while he could. It's a tricky subject, P. Are you sure you want to go there?"

"Savannah, I didn't approve of you and Ronnie, remember?"

"This is different," Savannah had grunted. "Ronnie and I will die together, eventually. What we have _can_ work. We'll have some babies, get old, and then we'll die together. You and Optimus… this will only end painfully."

"He treats me right," I'd reasoned. "That's more than I can say for a lot of humans."

"I know," Savannah had agreed. "And I can see that he cares for you; it's plain as day. And I know you'll be safe with him. There's not much more I can ask for."

"Then?"

"I don't know, P," he said. "I just worry about you. I don't want you getting hurt by this. And what if Megatron finds out? He's not above using you to get to Optimus."

"He won't find out."

"Parker, I know you. I know you think you can make everything work in the end, but—"

"We'll figure it out as it happens," I'd said gently. "Savannah, answer me this: if he was human, would you feel differently?"

"If he was human, he would be perfect. And I know that sounds racist, but it has nothing to do with the fact that he's Cybertronian. It's just everything that comes _with_ being a Cybertronian. The immortality is a big one."

I'd understood where he'd been coming from. I knew he didn't want me to get hurt, heading into a relationship that, in his eyes, was doomed to fail for so many reasons. And honestly, it probably _was_ doomed. I exist in nothing more than the blink of an eye in Optimus's lifespan.

"Savannah, I understand," I'd told him, "I really, really do. This is _huge_. We're _not_ the same, and I understand that. But, right now, we're making it work. And I'm happy with him—happier than I've been in a long, long time."

"And what if that doesn't last?"

"I know it probably won't," I told him, "and as long as I go into it _knowing_ that, knowing the complications, I'll be fine. I'm a big girl now, Vannah. You've gotta cut me some slack."

He'd been silent for a long time, and I'd waited patiently. Finally, he had spoken; his voice had been very quiet, very sad. "I just worry about you so much. You're my other half, P. I've seen you broken. I don't want that again."

"I know," I'd replied, keeping my voice loving, warm. "And that means a lot to me. It really, really does. But… but he does too, you know? Think about it: doesn't he possess _every_ quality you would want to see in a man, for me?"

"Yes, he does," Savannah had said. "And I can see that. He cares for you. He wants to protect you, and he treats you right. It's just… this is so hard for me, P. It's hard for me to let you do this to yourself when, looking in from the outside, I can see how it'll end."

"I know, I know," I'd murmured. "But please stand by me in this. It'll make it so much easier for me. I support you and Ronnie. Can you do the same for me?" There had been a very heavy sigh from the other line, and I had smiled softly, hopefully. "Your support means everything to me," I'd reminded him gently.

"I know," he'd replied. "It's just…" Another heavy sigh. "Fine. But only because I love you more than anything, and I can see how happy he makes you."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," he'd growled. "Just because he's a giant, indestructible robot doesn't mean I won't kick his ass if he hurts you." I'd laughed. "I mean it, P. You want my support? Fine. But I'm going to treat it like I would a _human_ relationship. When you're both around me, he needs to treat you with respect—he needs to have respect for me, too. That means I better not catch you guys making out again."

"Savannah," I'd sighed. "Don't get your panties in a twist. I've seen you and Ronnie kissing."

"Yeah, but they're _tasteful_ kisses. You've never seen us like I saw _you_ guys. And I don't ever want to see that again."

"That wasn't even anything bad!"

"I saw your tongues, for God's sake! And you didn't have pants on! Jesus, Parker, don't put me through that again."

"Oh," I'd said sheepishly. "Sorry. Okay, I can do that."

"And I'm going to have another talk with him."

"Don't damage him," I'd sighed.

"I'm going to give him the same talk I would give anyone else," he's said reasonable. "As long as he keeps you happy, we shouldn't have a problem."

I'd actually laughed at this. "I love you, Savannah."

"I know. I love you, too," he'd replied. Then another heavy sigh. "This is going to be tough," he'd said dully. "But I'll try."

"That's all I ask."

The conversation had ended after it had been settled, and it had basically come down to the fact that while he wouldn't alter his role as overprotective (little) brother, he wouldn't constantly speak out against us. It was acceptance, and that was enough for me.

A couple of weeks had passed, and in that time Mudflap had taken me to see Optimus, which had involved many ninja moves, on the twins' part, to sneak me up and over the fence at base. Of course, Optimus waiting on the other side had made things easier. We hadn't seen each other since that night, which had been short lived in itself, considering I had technically trespassed onto a military base where I was no longer welcome.

But, in the couple of weeks since I had last seen Optimus, I had become increasingly paranoid, hence the technophobia and paranoia. Honestly, no over exaggerations. I'm _seriously_ paranoid. It's not entirely unfounded, though. I _constantly_ feel like I'm being watched; that eerie feeling when the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, when a chill creeps up my spine, when I swear I can just _feel_ something else there.

And I've been noticing a car, too. The same car is just _always_ around. It's a 1967 Chevy Impala. I've been watching it. It drives by the house late at night, the windows darkly tinted so that I can't see inside. Sometimes, it's parked out in the lot at work, but I never see the driver in the diner. It followed me home, once. I'd been driving with Skids, and the Impala had remained a couple of cars back the entire drive home. It had driven past the house without stopping, but _still_.

I _know_ it's the same car. It's got deep gouges along the whole right side. They _look_ like they could have come from a car accident, but I know better. That car is _everywhere_. I want to follow it one day, but I _can't_—not with Mudflap and Skids as my car. And how ridiculous would I sound if I asked them to follow an old black Impala? If it was a Decepticon, I'm sure they would have realized this. But at the same time, I know, deep down, that it isn't an ordinary car.

It's not just cars, either. It's things that I'm in contact with every day. Televisions, for instance; the nice kind, the expensive, large plasma screens. There's one in the diner—the only thing that goes against the 50s theme. The other day my boss had called me to fix it because it had been on the fritz. I swear, as I'd slid my hand around the back to check the wires, it had shuddered. And it's kept happening; going on the fritz, and I'm the _only one who can fix it_. I don't even do anything to it.

The worst thing is the eyes. I swear I've been seeing red eyes. That childhood fear of the window has only worsened. Sometimes I look out, and I _swear_ I see glowing red eyes staring back at me, watching me. I've started sleeping with the window closed, locked, shutters closed, drapes drawn.

If the eyes are out there, I don't want to see them.

I'm lying in bed, having trouble sleeping. A few hours ago, the Impala had driven by. I try to be logical about it; maybe he lives past my house. But I'd made up excuses for the twins to drive me down there, and I have _never_ seen the Impala parked anywhere. I can't look at TVs, copiers, or computers the same way anymore. I'm glad I don't have a computer in my room.

Is it possible that they're watching me? And if they are; why? Are they waiting for me to mess up? Trying to find the Autobot base? Do they know about me and Optimus, whatever _we_ are? Do they know about Savannah, that I know he's alive? So many terrible questions to answer, and I just don't _know_. That's the worst part, the unknown. If I _knew_ they were watching me, I would be able to handle it.

Part of me thinks I'm going crazy, becoming obsessed. I'm sure things have been going far too well in my life lately; after all, it's about time they screwed it up. I'm just waiting for the hammer to drop. I can feel it hovering above me.

Ronnie had picked up on my weird, jittery behavior. She's not stupid, and she's around me most. I'd managed to hide it around the twins whenever I'm around one of them, but they're starting to notice. I'm losing sleep over this.

A tapping at my window jolts me from my thoughts. I lay perfectly still for a moment, listening. There it is again, a sharp, metallic tap-tap-tapping. Then a soft screech. Standing, I clutch the baseball bat I'd stationed beside my bed and walk to the window. Taking a deep breath, flinching at the tapping, I fling open the shutters.

There's nothing there. Skids is parked in the driveway. The darkness of the oak tree looms before me. Something moves, and my eyes, trained for this, zero in on the movement. But it must know I'm watching, whatever it is. The logical part of my mind tells me it's a squirrel. Or a raccoon. Or a cat. The paranoid side tells me that it's something much worse.

Gripping the bat, I stare out into the darkness, frozen. Something shifts again, and then explodes out of the darkness, headed straight for the window. It moves too fast for me to make it out before it shoots up into the night where I can no longer see it. My hand has slipped over my mouth, stifling a scream.

A bird. Only a bird. I'd seen wings, and what else can fly away like that? Not any Decepticon that I know of. Shaking, I close the shutters and duck into bed. I want nothing more than to call Skids and ask him to activate his holoform and come sleep with me. I'm that scared. But I'm also too full of pride for that, so I let him sleep and I suffer alone.

Besides. Skids will protect me. If there was something evil out there, he would know about it. The thought allows me to fall into a fitful, nightmare-filled sleep.

The next day at work, everything seems to be going fine. I feel normal, I can focus on my job. That is, until the TV freaks out again, and I have to fix it.

"I think it likes you," my boss jokes, his eyes full of laughter. "You're the only one who can fix it. You must have the magic touch."

"Something like that." I walk up to the TV as he leaves me alone to fix it. This is just too weird. There's no way this is a coincidence.

Surrounded by customers, I pitch my voice low. I stab a finger at the screen discreetly. "I know what you are," I tell the TV. "You don't have me fooled. And this sick little game you're playing? I'm getting tired of it." For a moment I just stand there, feeling incredibly stupid. I really need therapy if I'm sitting here talking to a TV. Looking to my left, one of my coworkers is giving me a strange look. I grin at him with a shrug.

God, I must have a screw loose.

I fiddle around in the back, messing with the wires like I always do. I tell myself I'm stupid, and now I look like a freak for talking to a TV. I've seriously got problems. This paranoia thing has gone too far. I'm just _imagining_ things, that's all.

I almost believe it. For a second, I'm _this close_ to fooling myself. And then the TV flicks on, and the movie playing is A _Nightmare on Elm Street._ The little girls are singing that eerie song:

"_One, two, Freddie's coming for you.  
>Three, four, better lock your door.<br>Five, six, grab your crucifix.  
>Seven, eight, better stay up late…"<em>


	37. Chapter 37

**NOTE: Parker goes on a mission :D **

**Also, I know you all think she should tell the bots what's happening. And I agree. But if she did, well, that would be out of character. And we don't want that, do we? :)  
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**Enjoy! I'm having fun with these chapters! Review please?**

Chapter 37

Opportunity has presented itself. Maybe it's fate, or just coincidence, but whatever it is has finally decided to work in my favor. The twins are needed for a brief mission somewhere in the Middle East, again, and all the other bots are involved as well. As a result, I'll be on my own. They'll be leaving tomorrow, so Optimus had managed to steal some time to himself to come and see me today before he leaves.

I _know_ I should tell him. I do. I know I should tell _someone_; I'm not stupid. But at the same time, I _can't_. There's just too much at risk. What if I tell him, and they turn on me? What if they don't want to deal with me anymore? What if he doubts his trust in me? Or what if I tell them, and the Decepticons find out I'm loyal to the Autobots? What if the Decepticons find out about Optimus and me? What if they find out that the Autobots _know_ I'd been a spy, and that I'd changed sides?

What if?

There are so many questions, _so many_ things that might go wrong if I mess this up. For now, even if I _am_ being followed, no one is in danger. Everything hangs in the balance; I can feel it. One wrong move, and it all comes crumbling down. The best I can hope for is to keep my mouth shut and let things play out. For all I know, the Decepticons think I'm still on their side, that the Autobots are only protecting me because they still think I'm Carmen, who _needs_ to be protected. I have to play the game, even if I'm not sure of the rules yet.

Then again, there's always the possibility that I'm just paranoid.

It's hard, so hard, looking into Optimus's gentle, kind face and lying to him. I hate myself for it. I don't _want_ to lie to him. But what if I'm being watched _right now?_ What if I tell him and all hell breaks loose?

I'm trapped.

"You're certain?" he asks me. "The twins mentioned that you've been skittish lately."

"I'm fine," I tell him, reaching up and cradling his gigantic face with one hand. He places his huge palm over my hand on his face, leaning into it. He sighs, opening his eyes and watching my face. I maintain steady, easy eye contact, horrified that lying comes so easily to me.

"You look exhausted." He brushes under my chin with a finger, looking at my dark-rimmed eyes. I smile at him.

"I've been up late," I tell him. "Work's getting stressful, that's all. I can't sleep when I'm stressed."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No," I laugh, rubbing his hand with my nails. "It'll get better. I guess I'm still adjusting to _normal_ life." He still looks worried, and I wonder how much he suspects. "Optimus? What's wrong?"

"I'm just worried, is all," he says to me. "For you."

"I'm okay. Everything is fine, I promise."

"You would tell me, wouldn't you?" He asks very seriously. "If there is something going on, you must tell me."

"I would tell you," I agree. "I'm not stupid, Optimus. If anything happens, you'll be the first to know. But for now, my problems are normal _human_ problems." He sighs, and I stretch up on my tiptoes and kiss his metal lower lip, praying that I'm not being watched right now. I tell myself that I'm not lying. For all I know, I'm telling the truth, and there really _is_ nothing going on. And besides, he's going on another mission. I don't need him distracted with my worries.

"You worry too much," I tell him with a gentle laugh. "Honestly."

"I know," he sighs. "You're right." His eyes flick to mine, steadily holding my gaze. I offer him a soft smile.

"Worry about you for now, okay?" I tell him. "Worry about your mission, and worry about coming home in one piece." He nods. "Is it Decepticons again?"

"No," he says, "the issues we're dealing with at the moment are decidedly _human_."

I breathe a sigh of relief. "Okay, that's a little better," I tell him. "But be careful _please_. Just because they're human doesn't mean they can't hurt you."

"I will be careful," he promises. "Things are expected to go smoothly."

"Yeah, but it doesn't always go according to plan," I remind him, pressing my palms against his cheeks as he maintains his crouch in front of me. I want nothing more than to stay with him, just like this. I feel so _safe_ right now, stupid for even _thinking_ that I'm being followed. The Impala is nowhere to be seen, and the same can be said for the eyes.

"You'll be fine on your own?" He asks, his fingertips running tenderly over my body, one hand on each side.

"Of course," I say with a bright smile. "Seriously, quit worrying." Another heavy sigh.

"I should be going," he finally rumbles, closing his blue eyes gently. I rub his cheek, my fingers catching at the metal.

"Okay," I tell him. He leans his forehead into mine, and I cuddle almost desperately into him. "I've really missed you lately," I murmur, kissing the space between his eyes. His breath hitches slightly as I lean into him, and he cups my body with his hand, pressing me firmly against his face.

"I have missed you, too," he says gently. "When I return—"

"Just come when you can," I tell him. "Okay? I'll be waiting." I wrap my arms around his face tightly, my heart hammering. I'm nervous for him. I'd seen the damages from his last mission. I don't want him to go through that again. I don't know how long they'll be gone; a few days, maybe a week or more. I don't want to let him go, but eventually I release him and take a step back.

"Be careful," I remind him. His eyes are _so gentle_. I can't believe I'm standing here lying to him. I'm scum. I'm worse than scum. I don't deserve him. But I'll make it up to him, somehow.

"I will return to you," he promises. "Keep yourself safe for me."

"Will do."

He casts me a lingering look and starts to stand up. Again, almost desperately, I dart forward, catching his face and pressing one last kiss to his mouth, then his forehead. He lets out a deep, rumbling sigh.

"Sorry," I breathe. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize for that, Parker," he murmurs. "Never apologize for that."

He nuzzles me face one last time before standing and folding in on himself, becoming the Peterbilt. I trail my fingers over the paint as he drives away, leaving me behind. Leaving me _alone._ When he's gone into the darkness that's steadily covering me, I turn around and head toward the house. Ronnie and I are both off work by this time; her vintage yellow bug rests placidly in the driveway. I wait a few minutes when I get inside, running over the plan in my head. I'll wait for the Impala to drive by again, like it does every night. And then I'll follow it. Then I'll double back to the diner and use my employee key to get in and check on that TV.

"Hey, Ronnie?" I call.

"Yeah?"

"Can I borrow your car, please? They took mine for a while."

"Sure," she says, and I hear her walking closer as I lean casually against the kitchen sink. She gives me a knowing smile. I quirk my eyebrows at her. "So…" she starts, "I saw that truck in the driveway." She can't contain her smile. I laugh, biting back my own smile. Ever since walking in on us, Ronnie has become very interested in my love life.

"He's cute," she'd told me. "But he looks a lot older than you. How old is he?"

I'd shrugged. Oh, a few millennia old, why? "I dunno. In this thirties, maybe?"

She'd just shrugged and accepted it. She has no idea that the owner of the truck actually _is_ the truck, and I'm glad she'd given us our privacy and hadn't noticed Optimus in his bipedal form. She's just happy I've found someone, and she'd been supportive since she'd caught us in the kitchen. Not that we spend much time talking about it—she's too excited about the impending wedding.

"Yeah," I tell her, "he stopped by to say goodbye."

"He's going with Savannah, huh?"

"Yup." I tell her. "Anyways, sorry, but I gotta go run a couple of errands."

She tosses me the keys with a shrug. "Be careful with my baby. I'm gonna go take a shower and go to sleep, so I probably won't be up when you get home."

I decide it's best not to tell her that, if the Impala is a Decepticon, there's a very real chance her baby will be flattened. She probably wouldn't take it well. So I grab my purse, pluck up my courage, and head out to the Beetle. I slide into the seat—despite the car's age, it had been very nicely taken care of, and it runs fine. I don't start the engine. Instead, I wait quietly, watching the rearview mirror for signs of the Impala driving by. Since Ronnie is in the shower, she won't know whether or not I've left.

I wait impatiently, nervously. Half of me hope the Impala won't come. I hope it's all in my head. But that message the TV had left last week—One, two, Freddie's coming for you? That had _not_ been coincidence. It was a message. It had to be. Someone was coming for me. My heart stops as I'm pondering these thoughts; something moves out in the street behind me. In the darkness, the black Impala glides like a sleek, oily shadow. I wait for it to pull away from the house before I start the Beetle and pull out of the driveway. I keep my headlights off and follow at a distance, though I know it's no use. There's no sneaking up on these guys. I can only hope that it thinks I'm going somewhere, rather than following it.

It leads me down a few side streets and alleys, where I lurk around corners until the coast is clear. Finally we make it onto main boulevards; I keep checking over my shoulder, terrified I'm being followed even as I'm following the Impala. What about the TV?

The Impala keeps going, and I'm getting more and more nervous. My hands are clenching the wheel, slick with sweat. Finally, he leads me out and away from civilization, and my blood runs cold. There's no one else around. The Impala puts on the breaks, engine still running, but doesn't move. I stay where I am, a good distance away, just waiting, hoping, praying that a man will climb out, a normal man, that there will be an explanation for all of this.

But no. My life is never that simple. I hold back a horrified scream as the Impala buckles and twists, reshaping itself until it's standing where the car had been. It's back is to me—or I should say _his_. His body is badly scarred, just like the car had been. For a few minutes, the robot just stands there. He's maybe a foot taller than Bumblebee, slightly broader, his paint sleek and black. Finally, he rolls his shoulders, shifts his weight, and turns around to face me.

His eyes are red—at least, one is. The other one is broken, damaged, dark.

He sees me. Of course he sees me. I swear we lock eyes, and he gives me a hard, deadly look. He shakes his head, a gesture that is somehow threatening, before he raises a finger to his mouth. Even in the distance, I can see that his mouth, his jaw, is crooked. His build is harsh, intimidating, sharp. I understand the gesture as he points into the darkness, back the way we had come. That look in his one good eye, the menace on his face—there's no mistaking that.

_Go back where you came from. Say nothing._

I don't know who this robot is, but his red eyes tell me he's on the Decepticons' side, and that's enough for me. I do as he says; I back up and high tail it out of there, fear making my motions harsh, jittery. I'm driving badly, but I don't care. I need to run. My mind is panicky.

Finally I can't take it anymore and I pull over, gasping for breath. This can't be happening. This _can't_ be happening! Why _me?_ Why can't they just leave me alone? What do they _want?_ This new Decepticon, whoever he is, is _terrifying_—harsh, scarred, _cold_. I can't get his face out of my mind. I feel sick to my stomach.

What do I _do?_ His message had been clear. Don't tell anyone. I'm not feeling up to testing him. Clearly he had fought and survived many battles; I didn't even want to _think_ about him coming into contact with my Autobot friends. I want to cry. I want to throw up. I want to scream.

I'd been hoping, somehow, that maybe it had just been me. Maybe I had just been paranoid. But no. It would _never_ be just that simple. God, what am I going to do? I can't tell Optimus about this! But if I don't tell him, he'll hate me. He'll lose his trust in me. But if I _do_ tell him, the same thing might happen.

But it's okay. It's fine. I have time to figure this out. I have time. That's all I need. Time.

The Beetle suddenly shudders and screeches, and I bash my head against the window. Thankfully, I don't break it, but I do cut my forehead open form the force; blood leaks into my right eye and I wipe it away. I don't even realize I'm screaming. Even once the bug is still, I'm still screaming. Finally, my voice cuts out and I freeze, staring up at the roof of the bug. Something is up there, but it's not the Impala, that much I know for sure.

And then it's gone. I wait a few minutes before I get out to inspect the damage; there is none, thank _God._ I glance around, but there's no sign of anything out of the ordinary. Nearly hyperventilating, I climb back into the Beetle and just sit, burying my face in my hands, trying to think through this mess. This can't be happening again. I'd just escaped them! I'd been free for a couple of months, and they're already back? Why can't they just _leave me alone?_

I can't do this. I can't. I can't just sit here. I restart the bug and drive back to the diner, like I'd planned. I have to stick to the plan, at least. If I can't stick to the plan, everything will fall apart. I wipe at the blood on my forehead with trembling hands; I finally manage to make it to the diner without any other incidents. I park the car, suddenly determined to get to the bottom of this. I grab my purse and my keys, sliding the right key into the lock, pushing open the door and flicking on the light. I turn to the TV with a triumphant, insane-sounding yell; a yell that dies in my throat a moment later as I stare at the TV, sitting there innocently.

"You!" I snarl at it, jabbing a finger at it. "I know you're up to something. You and your _Impala friend!_" I stalk over to the TV; it doesn't respond. "What do you want? Why are you doing this?"

For a moment I stare at the TV, just _daring_ it to move, to do something. "Who _are_ you?"

The TV flicks on, scaring the hell out of me. I jump back with a scream as a man onscreen growls: _"I'm your worst nightmare."_

I feel my blood go cold, but I find the strength to roll my eyes. "Oh, scary," I say sarcastically as the TV shuts off. "Good one." An eerie, chilling laugh drifts from the TV. It turns on again, and a child is on TV, speaking in a creepy voice.

"_You and I are going to be best friends. Do you want to play with me?"_

The TV laughs again, before letting out a ripping, screeching growl and shutting off. I back up, trying to control my hammering heart. I turn around and walk toward the back of the restaurant, keeping my purse with me, searching for something to use as a weapon. I can't find anything. I decide, then, that the best thing to do is _run_—but don't let him see how much he's scaring me, either.

When I make it back to the main room, the TV is gone.

He's somewhere in the diner, with me. I spin around, almost frantic.

"You can't hide from me," says a harsh, scratchy male voice. "Let's play, little girl." I can't find him.

"Where are you?"

"I'm everywhere, plaything." Another grating, eerie chuckle. "You can't escape me."

There's a shuffling sound to my left, the sound of moving air, and I spin around. There's nothing there. Claws click on the tile, and I back up against a wall.

"Let's have _fun_," he says, his voice softer, crooning.

"I'm not scared of you."

"I think you are," he garbles. "I really think you are. You and I? We are going to have _so much fun_."

"Who are you?" I demand again.

"I'm the one who will be watching you," he says, his voice hitched and chilling. "Wherever you go, I will be there, watching. You are never alone."

"What do you _want?_"

"I just want to play." His voice is mockingly innocent. Glass shatters to my right and I spin around. I catch a blur of something silver, and when I turn around again, the TV is back in place. I'm suddenly horribly aware of the loud, irritating chirp of a police siren, a warning. Red and blue lights flash, and I lose my breath.

_Barricade_.

"We'll see how long your sanity will last. Most do not take long to crack under my pressure."

I glance at the TV, then the glass doors that would lead me to outside.

"Oh," the TV-bot adds, "I took the liberty of calling the police."

I gasp and dart for the front doors, which are glass. There are two police cars, which confuses me. Barricade is one of them, but who is the other? I'm even _more_ confused when two cops step out of the cars, ordering me to put my hands in the air. I do as they say, and it slowly dawns on me that these are _human_ police.

I don't resist as they cuff me, telling me that I have the right to remain silent and all that. They load me into the back of one car while the other stays back to "survey" the damage. Still in a daze, I'm driven to the police station. I can't quite figure out what's happening. The cop tells me that the alarm in the diner had gone off, signaling someone had broken in. They'd found me, and so now I was being held at the police station until someone bailed me out. I get my one call.

"Hello?" Ronnie's voice on the other end of the line is tired, slurred. "Who's this?"

"Ronnie? Ronnie, hi, it's me. It's Parker."

"Parker? Why are you calling me from the police station?"

I glance at the cop watching me, feeling utterly humiliated. I'd already explained to him the situation, the lie I had managed to come up with in a matter of seconds. I tell Ronnie the same story I'd told him.

"I left something at the diner," I say, rubbing my cut forehead. "I went back to get it and used the key, but I forgot about the silent alarm and I didn't turn it off. So the police came and arrested me. They think I broke in."

"You're kidding."

"Do I _sound_ like I'm kidding?"

"Not really."

"Look, I need you to bail me out, okay? I promise I'll pay you back. I have the money."

"Jesus, Parker. What was so important that you needed to get it _right now?_"

"My purse?" I try hopefully, hoping she hadn't noticed me grab it earlier.

"Jesus," she says again. "Okay, fine. Hold tight, I'll be there in a few."

She hangs up and I'm led away to a holding cell. I've never, ever, ever been so humiliated. Or irritated. The police have my purse and everything inside it. They're going to contact my boss, the diner owner, and tell him the situation, since they have me down for breaking and entering, which is stupid, because _I had used a key_. Apparently, though, you can't be too careful. They want to check my story with my boss, and hope he doesn't want to press charges.

Ronnie and my boss arrive at around the same time. I look up, feeling like an inmate in an old movie as an officer leads Ronnie to my cell. She grips the bars, looking somewhere between annoyed and incredibly amused.

"This is just too good," she finally says, shaking her head. The cop unlocks the door for me and I stand. "Come on," she says, "you're free."

When we make it out to the front, a cop is standing with my boss. He looks at me and I explain the situation to him, shaking my head. This is so _stupid_.

"I'm sorry," I finish. "I should have remembered the alarm. Sorry for waking you and dragging you into this."

My boss just shakes his head, laughing. "Wow," he says, "this is a first for me, I gotta say." He looks at the cops. "She's fine, guys. I'm not pressing charges. Nothing was damaged or stolen."

They nod and, about an hour later, I'm released. I shoot the cop who had arrested me a dirty look, glancing at the handcuffs.

"Don't I get to keep them?" I ask snidely, and he raises an eyebrow in annoyance. "What? I _have_ a boyfriend, you know." Ronnie snorts and grabs my arm, jerking me away with an exasperated laugh. My boss makes fun of me and can't wait to tell everyone else. At least he's not mad.

"Ronnie," I ask suddenly, "how did you get here? I took the Beetle."

"Savannah's truck," she answers, "it lives in the garage, but I busted it out for this. By the way; my baby is _impounded._ You're paying to get her out of there."

"Tomorrow, for sure," I reply. "I've been saving up money, so I'll pay you for my bail, too."

She glances at my purse. "Hope it was worth it. What happened to your head?"

I touch the spot where my head had smacked the window. I hope there's no blood in the car. I'll have to clean that. "Police brutality," I tell her with a grin, and she rolls her eyes.

We make it home at a little past one in the morning. I set my alarm to wake me up every two hours in case I have a concussion; I don't want to die in my sleep, and I've suffered severe head trauma before.

Not that I can sleep anyway. I keep thinking about the Impala-con and the TV-bot—that's what I'd been calling them, in my head. At least I know I'm not crazy—not yet, anyway. According to the TV-bot, my sanity won't last long. I'd show him. I just need to figure this out, that's all. I need to work out a plan. I need to decide where to go from here. The TV-bot had said he had wanted to _play_. What the hell did _that_ mean? It definitely didn't sound good, and now I'm terrified, more than before. But now, at least, I have an idea of what I'm dealing with.

I can formulate a plan.

There's a tap-tap-tapping at my window, and my blood runs cold. A chill skitters down my spine as a laugh oozes through the window, the sound of it seeping into me, chilling me.

"I'm here, plaything."

There's a sharp scratch at the window. I sit up and draw my knees to my chest.

"Aren't you going to let me in?"

"No," I mumble, so quietly that he can't hear me. Another soft chuckle.

"I will have you," he whispers. "You are never safe. Remember that. You can't keep me out."

I choke back a whimper. I wish Optimus was here. I won't tell him, but I'd feel safer. I'm totally alone, now.

"We're going to have fun, you and I."

A tear slides down my cheek and I brush it away. I can't stop shaking. I'm stronger than this. I'm stronger than this. I can handle this. They'll be back soon.

I hear another soft laugh, a scratch at my window, and then nothing else. I'm left alone in the darkness and the silence, waiting for him to return.


	38. Chapter 38

**NOTE: Things get pretty tense…**

**Seriously, I'm loving writing these chapters. Tell me what you think, and I'll post the next one faster! I love this one, personally.  
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Chapter 38

That's it. I've _had_ it with this asshole. I'm sick of him hanging out in the diner, hiding in plain sight, watching me when I can do nothing about him. I'm sick of him lurking outside my window, keeping me up _all night_ with his creepy games, moving around in the oak tree, tapping on my window. I'm tired. I'm irritated. I'm sleep-deprived and I'm pissed off and I've never been so scared.

I'm sick of him. I'm sick of his threats. I'm sick of sitting back and just being scared. It's time to do something about this, and I've devised a plan. Three days have passed since I'd been arrested, and in that time I had paid Ronnie back, gotten her Beetle back, and had been continuously stalked by the Impala and the TV. I've bitten my nails to the quick. I've sat up all night, just _waiting_ for him to make good on his promises and come for me.

I'm done.

The Autobots are still gone. I'm still alone. And I'm going to handle this myself, without the Autobots. I'm not going to sit around like a scared little girl, waiting for her giant robot friends to go home so she can feel safe again. _No_. I'm going to handle this myself, and they'll be none the wiser. I can do this.

Every night, the TV-bot lurks outside my window, whispering for me to let him in. Tonight, I'm going to do just that. It's a risky move, yes, but I'm out of options, and I'm not going to do this anymore. So I've plucked up my courage, ashamed of myself for my weakness, because _I don't need anyone else_. I can handle my own problems, and it's about damn time I did so.

I'm resting against the window, my back to the wall beside it, shadowed in a dark corner. I'd left the window open slightly but drawn the curtains; they're billowing softly in the icy breeze right now. He should be here any minute, and he'll realize my window is open and, if he's smart, he'll take advantage of the fact, like he's promised to do. I still have no idea who he is, but tonight I _will_ find out.

I'd chosen tonight because Ronnie is working a late shift with her internship at the local hospital; she won't get hurt. It's perfect.

I press more firmly against the wall, taking a deep breath, clutching the baseball bat in my hands like a lifeline. I glance at the assortment of tools on my bed for reassurance; a blowtorch, an axe, and a nail gun, since a real gun hadn't been readily available. It was the simple kind, the kind that didn't require a generator to work. It was perfect. I let out a soft breath, just waiting. This is the worst part; waiting.

Finally, he's here; I can _feel _his presence. He chuckles from outside, calling out softly to me. I don't answer; I'd turned on the TV downstairs, hoping he would assume I was down there and had forgotten to close the window. There's a soft, rough clicking noise, some strange sound he's making. I tense and suck in a breath as there's a scrabbling sound at the window, a _whooshing_ sound, like wings beating the air. I'd already gathered that he probably had wings; it was only logical, considering how quickly he moved.

I'd never seen a Decepticon with wings before.

The window groans and slides open, and he lets out a harsh, guttural laugh. My skin breaks out in gooseflesh. I grip the bat tighter, closing my eyes for a second before turning my attention to the window. Slowly, so slowly, he pokes his head in. I stop breathing.

What the _hell_ is he?

Not yet, I tell myself, raising the bat slightly. Not. Yet. He needs to be in more, just a little more.

There are his wings—he's a _bird?_ A metal _bird?_ He's one of the most horrifying things I've ever seen. I take in the cruel, razor sharp beak, the harsh, curled talons as they grip the wooden window pane. The powerful legs, the strong wings. He makes a laughing chittering noise, glancing around the room. His eyes fall on me, and I swing.

A loud, bone-chilling shriek floods the room, and I'm not sure who made it, him or me. But my bat connects with something solid, and then I'm _sure_ he screeches. I've knocked him from the windowpane; he's landed on the floor, his wings beating, powerful legs and claws scrabbling. His eyes lock on me.

I swing again, knocking him back before I lunge for the nail gun. I launch a few in his direction, listening to the resounding _pings_ as they connect with his metal. His wings are thrashing; I'd clearly caught him off guard, and he's furious, screeching, beating the air; but there's not enough room for him to take flight, not in this dark corner.

I swing one final time, catching him in the head before I use the bat to pin him to the ground as I lurch forward on my hand and knees, pinning him on his back, my knees pinning his wings.

This thing is _massive_, I realize too late. His winding, snakelike tail whips the air, catching my thigh, and his head, attached to a long, spiked, strong neck, lifts from the ground, peering into my eyes before he head butts me. I stagger back, but I'm on him a moment later, using my feet to pin his wings this time, standing atop him. I grab the axe and press it against his neck.

I finally realize I'm in panic mode; I'd squealed and screamed through most of this ordeal. Here I am, attacking my tormentor. There's no telling what will happen.

"_Who are you?"_ I demand, wiping blood out of my eyes; he'd cut my forehead. How man cuts is that now?

The bird stares up at me from his back, looking suddenly very relaxed. He laughs, that chilling laugh that has been haunting me for days.

"Parker," he says in his screeching, muddy-sounding voice. "How nice to finally meet you, face to face." He seems to hiss out the "s" sounds. I hold back my shudder. Then he bucks, his body arching, legs scrabbling; a talon catches my kneecap, sending me down, and all at once he has the upper hand. He seizes my shoulders in his talons, his wings clawing at the air, lifting me off the ground before he throws me back; I land on my back on my bed and he's upon me an instant later. His talons grip the sides of my hips, digging in. His wings are spread, long tail swaying, neck arched, his face inches above mine.

The birdlike way he moves is eerie. I'm pinned beneath him; he's much heavier than I had thought he'd be.

"Clever move, girl," he says, saliva dripping onto my face. He brushes his beak over my face in a sickeningly tender gesture; his long, slimy tongue darts out, sliding over my throat and my cheek, leaving a trail of slime in its wake. "Mmm," he croons in my ear. "You're so _soft_. Delicious."

"Get _off_ of me!" I manage to snarl; I'm too panicked to sound scared. I just sound angry.

"And let you go?" He asks innocently. "No. You're going to pay for that."

"What do you _want?"_

"I want to play, remember?"

"You're sick."

He laughs like it's a compliment. To him, it probably is. He just tilts his head back and laughs; I seize the moment, wrapping my hands around his neck and rolling over off of the bed. He screeches again as I land on top of him on the ground. I snatch the nail gun and hold it to his head, just over his eye. He goes very still, but he's clearly furious.

"I'll shoot," I warn him. "How do you think you'll fly blind?"

He just laughs. "You wouldn't dare—"

So I fire the gun, just to prove that yes, yes I _would_ dare. It connects with his eye, shattering it. He screeches so loud that I'm afraid it will break the windows. He throws me off of him, taking a moment to thrash, still shrieking in agony. I land on the ground, hard, as he flips over, landing on his feet. He makes a low, avian hissing sound, crouching in front of me, only one eye glowing.

"_You will pay for that._" I seize the nail gun desperately. "Oh, you will pay. I am going to have _so much fun_ with you."

He lunges for me with a wild scream, and I scream, throwing my arms up desperately to protect my face. But the blow doesn't come. Instead, he just rushes me, wings spread, stopping only a millimeter from my nose. I lower my hands, pressing my back against a wall. He chuckles.

"You are lucky," he hisses in my face, "that Megatron is protecting you."

"What are you doing here, then?" I demand, aiming the nail gun at him. He weaves almost playfully; I can't get a good shot.

"I'm here under strict orders to—_keep an eye on you_."

"So you can't hurt me," I smirk.

"Not yet," he says, his tone threatening. "Not officially. But accidents happen, plaything. And you will pay."

I laugh then, suddenly cocky, relieved. He can't hurt me. Megatron is still protecting me.

"Megatron sent a metal _turkey_ to watch me?" I laugh, and he hisses angrily.

"Mind your tone, girl," he growls, running a talon over my leg. I flinch; it's his turn to laugh. I squirm away, drawing my legs close to my body.

"Why are you watching me?"

"I'm making sure you're still loyal to the cause," he seems to giggle. "One word from me, and you're dead. And I'm starting to doubt your loyalties."

I snarl. "I've never been anything _but_ loyal to Megatron. He knows it." My mind is working quickly now, falling back into the old Parker. I can handle this. It's almost thrilling. Strangely empowering.

"Is that so?" He questions. "How odd. I seem to recall you acting quite… _fondly_ toward the Prime."

My blood runs cold, but I laugh. The sound of it surprises me; it's cold, slithering, _confident_. I speak without really knowing what I'm saying; the lie comes out smoothly. "I'm assuming you bought that?" He growls, and I laugh again. "You _did_. How perfect." I give him a sad little sigh. "You don't get it, do you? What better way to gain their trust and bring them down than to get to the _Prime_? It's the perfect setup."

His good eye narrows. I smile at him. "It took some time, but I did it. I have him wrapped around my little finger," I laugh again, only to stop myself from being sick. But I'm desperate. If I can't pull this off, it's all over. He _knows_ about Optimus. He had seen us. It's all I can do to protect Optimus, and this is the only way I can think to do it. I should have known we'd be caught.

"This is all a game?" the bird asks. He hops closer, gripping my hips again, perched in my lap. I wince.

"Of course," I tell him. "Megatron left me behind, so I took matters into my own hands."

"Hmm," he growls. "Then it is just a ploy, is it? Your affections for the Prime?"

"Of course," I laugh cockily. I smirk. "What can I say? I'm quite _charming_ when I need to be."

"You—_kissed_ him," the bird seems to choke on the word. I roll my eyes.

"A girl has needs," I inform him. "He happened to be willing to fulfill him. He thinks I care; I _know_ he cares. It's perfect. Try not to screw it up for me."

"What is your plan?" he seems genuinely interested now. I think fast.

"Megatron said he was coming back for me," I reason. "It doesn't get much more perfect. When I disappear, the Prime will be _devastated_. They will crumble."

"Hmm," he says again. He shifts his wings almost thoughtfully before narrowing his good eye at me. "I'm not sure I buy it."

"Buy it or don't buy it. It's the truth. He's even given me guardians; he wants me to be _safe_."

"I'm not sure that I buy into the fact that it's just an _act_," he clarifies, his tone vicious. I shrug.

"Doesn't matter to me what you think. It's working, either way."

He's quiet for a moment. I hope he can't hear my hammering heart, and if he can, I hope he thinks it's just from our little fight. My stomach churns. I'm walking on thin ice here. All it takes is one wrong move…

"This could work," he says slowly, swinging his head to face me again. "When we take you, he _will_ fall apart…"

"Exactly."

"I will tell Megatron about this," he decides, nodding. "If this really is your plan, then I commend you. It should work beautifully." I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off. "However, if it is _not_—and I suspect that it is not—if you are lying to me, I will find out. And don't get any ideas about telling your Autobot friends, either."

"I already told you; I'm loyal."

"Forgive me," he drawls sarcastically, "but I'm having a hard time believing that. So don't get any ideas. If you tell them, I _will_ know about it. You're always being watched; remember that. I'm not the only one here."

"You mean the Impala."

"And others, my dear." I swallow thickly, nodding. "I haven't forgotten about my eye," he spits a moment later, digging in his talons. "You will suffer for that. Like I said; _accidents happen_. Perhaps we can bring the Prime down a little sooner with your loss. Remember that, too."

"Are you threatening me?" I ask coldly, and he laughs. That's a yes. Which means he's going to continue tormenting me, driving me insane. He's going to kill me, somehow, sometime.

This is too much. If he knows about me and Optimus, what else does he know about? Does he know about Savannah?

"Oh," he adds after a moment, stirring me from my thoughts, "and in case you decide to test me, I would highly recommend _not_. The more you slip up, the more I will kill."

"What—"

"Your tiny blond friend?" Ronnie. He means Ronnie. Oh God, not Ronnie. He lets out a shuddering laugh. "She will be fun. I will end her, and she will know you are to blame. And after her, I will end those idiot twins, your guardians."

"I don't care about them," I scoff.

"We'll see about that," he growls before continuing. "I will end your coworkers. I will end your military friends. I will end them all. Do not breathe a word of this to anyone."

"Okay," I murmur.

"I want your word."

"You have my word."

"Good," he croons. He brushes his harsh beak over my hair, inhaling deeply. "I'm glad we've come to this understanding, Parker."

"What's your name?" I try again and he gives me a suspicious look. Honestly, I just want to know, simply because I'm curious. "What?" I drawl. "I want to know what kind of names they give to glorified chickens these days."

"Call me that one more time," he threatens, "and when I finally kill you, I will _ensure_ that it is a long, painful process."

"Your name," I sigh, as though I'm not affected by his threat.

"Laserbeak."

"Nice to meet you."

"You think you're so funny," he growls, digging in his claws even deeper. I squeak, panting against the pain. "That's better," he says as I writhe. He hops off of me, the tips of his talons bloodied. "Remember what I said," he warns me. "I am always around."

"Remember what _I_ said," I tell him. "I've worked too long and too hard to get where I am now. Screw it up for me, and I'll stir-fry you."

"We'll see about that."

"Wait," I call to him as he wings himself toward my window. He looks at me and I gesture at my knee; blood is oozing from the gash. "How am I supposed to explain this to them?"

"That is not my concern."

"It will be when they figure out what's going on."

He heaves an annoyed sigh before coming back to me and crouching. Using his beak, he rips my pajama pants leg away. An instant later I cry out in pain—he's using a laser, burning the wound shut. I throw my head back against the wall, my stubby nails clawing at the floor. He pins my legs down with a foot, holding it still as he burns me.

"There," he says. "Satisfied?"

"Shit," I gasp, cradling my knee. The scent of burnt flesh makes my stomach churn again. But the bleeding has stopped. He chuckles.

"That's only the beginning of what I have planned for you," he tells me almost cheerfully. He hops onto my windowsill. "I'll see you soon."

And then he leaps off, disappearing into the night. I scramble to my feet, sticking my head out the window. When I'm sure he's gone, I close and lock it, knowing it will do no use to keep him out. If he wants in, he will come in.

Then I sprint for the bathroom. I barely make it to the toilet before my stomach heaves, emptying it out. My body is slick with sweat, trembling. I gag again and vomit again, until there's nothing left in my stomach.

What am I _doing?_ I shouldn't be involved with this again. I don't _want_ to be. But that's not the scariest part. The scary part was that some horrible, sick, twisted, disgusting part of me had been glad—glad to hear that Megatron was still protecting me. That situation had been horrifyingly thrilling. Liberating. Enthralling. That _rush_. I make myself sick and I gag again, panting against the fear, the pain. I'm spinning out of control.

What the hell had I just done? Despite the way that something had just felt _right_ inside of me, in those moments, I also know that I'm screwed. I'm horrified at myself. But I'd taken care of it. Right? Everything was back in order. Laserbeak thinks I'm working for Megatron. That's all I need. Right?

_Right?_

But what had I done? Thinking about what I'd said about Optimus makes me gag again, but there's nothing left in my stomach to throw up. I flush it down and brush my teeth, trying to control my erratic breathing. Optimus doesn't deserve this, says a little voice in the back of my head. He's _good_. You're _bad_. You're _sick_. What are you doing to them?

But I hadn't done anything _wrong_. I'd just lied. To keep him safe, I had lied. And, in order to keep him safe—him, and Ronnie, and the twins, and Savannah and Lennox and my coworkers—I have to keep lying. He can't know about this. God, I can't stand to tell him now. I'm too ashamed. How would I explain it to him? How can I explain my words? I'd let them think of him as an easily-manipulated, love struck fool who would only be betrayed.

_Am_ I betraying him?

Yes. Yes, I am. Every moment that I go without telling him is a further betrayal.

Again, I consider leaving, like I'd tried to do before. Now is the perfect time, isn't it? There's no one around to stop me. I have a few days, maybe. I can get far. But it's impossible. I'm being followed by Laserbeak, by the Impala, and others, he'd said. Not to mention that I can't just leave Ronnie and Savannah. Or Optimus or the twins. I can't do that to them. Can I? No. It's not possible, anyway.

The best thing to do, the best way to ensure everyone's survival is to just sit and play the game. I can't go back to base, that much I know for sure. Laserbeak can't know where it is. Then again, he could always follow Optimus there. This is so screwed up. My mind is still reeling. I splash cold water on my face, trying to snap myself out of this daze.

Baby steps, I tell myself. Baby steps. What do I need to do first? Start small. I need to clean up my room. No evidence. I rinse my mouth again, splash my face one more time, and then head out of the bathroom, trembling still. My hips are sore from the abuse they'd endured. So is my forehead. Why do head wounds always _bleed_ so much? I wipe the blood away and flick on my bedroom light, taking in the damage. My nightstand is overturned. The nail gun, axe, baseball bat, and blowtorch are all scattered. There's a little blood on my windowsill from Laserbeak's claws, as well as a little smeared on the floor.

I clean, in order to keep from going insane. It's the only thing I have control of right now. My forehead keeps dripping blood as I clean _up_ the other blood, which makes me want to scream. I clamp a hand over the wound to stop the bleeding.

When I'm done, I head up to the bathroom and draw a bath. I strip down and look at myself in the full-length mirror. The little holes in my hips are bruising slightly. There's an ugly, searing burn on my knee, a lot like the one on my ribs where Megatron had burned me to save my life. I run my fingers over the tight-looking skin there, shaking blood out of my eyes. Blood oozes down my hips, only a tiny bit. The wounds are shallow, thankfully, and aren't bleeding much. They're sore, but I can hide them.

I slide into the tub, ducking down into the water, completely submerging myself. The water is almost _too_ hot, but I like it. It forces me to focus on the physical, the external, rather than the mess in my head.

_Now is not the time to break down_, I tell myself firmly. _You can handle this. You're strong. _

I don't know if I can this time.

But I have a few days to find control. In those days, I'll be able to fix myself. I'm a good liar. I can lie to my friends and Optimus, if it means keeping them safe. I'm just angry that I'd been drawn into this again, even though I'd always known the day would come. Part of me wants to create distance between myself and Optimus to protect him. But how can I do that without Laserbeak noticing? It will be hard. But there has to be a way.

There has to be a way to make this _right_.

I'm not sure how long I've been in the bath when the door swings open. But the water is cold. I tense, expecting Laserbeak. It's just Ronnie. Had I really forgotten to lock the door? She gives me a confused look as I cross my legs and fold my arms over my chest.

"Parker? Do you know what time it is?"

"No?"

"It's three in the morning!"

"Whoa, sorry," I rasp. "I must've fallen asleep in the tub."

"Are you okay?"

"No," I say honestly, then I lie. "I think I'm getting sick. I must have a bug or something."

"You don't look so good."

"I know."

I glance at her worried face; she looks so tired standing there in her green scrubs. I move to grab a towel and she gives me my privacy as I dry off, moving to my room to change before finding Ronnie.

"I think I'm going to call in sick tomorrow."

Her brow creases in concern. "Anything I can do?"

"Nah," I wave her off. "I just need to sleep."

"Okay. Call if you need anything."

"Alright."

I collapse on my bed a few minutes later, burying my face in my pillow. I double check the locks. I get up and pace. Guilt nags at me. Panic eats away at my mind. I can't sleep. I'm exhausted, still sleep deprived, but _I can't sleep_. This is all part of his plan, I know it. He's going to keep me awake, let my mind eat away at itself. He's going to torment me. He's going to hurt everyone I love.

I have to stop him.

I'll find away, if it's the last thing I do. I'd promised Optimus I would keep him safe, and I'll do whatever it takes to keep that promise.


	39. Chapter 39

**NOTE: Parker shall grow steadily more ballsy… and steadily less sane through future chapters. D; Yay, fun! Anyways, in this one, OP returns! Enjoy, and review! Made the chapter slightly longer to make up for the little wait. :)  
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Chapter 39

"Hello, plaything."

"Gah!" I jolt up in bed, nearly smacking my head against his. I curl my legs and shove them against his chest. He squawks. "What the—_shit!_ Don't _do_ that!"

He seems to shake himself, perching himself on my bed, wings tucked close to his body. His eyes are narrowed. The one I'd taken out had been repaired, apparently. Three days had passed since then, and the Autobots still aren't back. I'm starting to _really_ worry about them, and the lack of contact is leaving me even _more_ stressed out. Rather than the twins as my guardians, I'd had the Impala, stationed outside my house at all times when I was home.

I'd finally—_finally!_—been sleeping when Laserbeak had woken me. Blessed, blessed sleep, ruined. I glare at him as he chuckles. I'd been told to leave my window open and, afraid of stirring up his wrath, I had obeyed.

"What do you _want?"_ I demand, making sure I don't hear Ronnie coming to check on me.

"I have good news and bad news," he says, shuffling his wings.

"What's the bad news?"

He gives an overly dramatic, wounded little sigh.

"Unfortunately," he tells me, "Megatron made it quite clear that I am _not_ allowed to kill you." I smirk.

"And the good news?"

I hadn't known birds could smile. Somehow, the expression on his face can only _be_ described as a smile; a chilling, wicked smile.

"The good news is that he _failed_ to tell me that I couldn't have _fun_ with you."

"Fun—_ah!_" I stop with a startled, pained little shriek as he digs his talons into my calf, piercing the skin and muscle. I clamp a hand over my mouth to muffle my cries and not wake Ronnie as I jerk my leg away, panting. "What the _hell?_"

"I still haven't had proper revenge for my eye," he explains. "Megatron told me to keep you in check. I'll do just that." Clicking softly, a sound almost like a metallic purr, he hops closer, stretching out his neck. I lean back against the headboard with a snarl, struggling under his weight. He deftly lifts a talon and pins my shoulder against the wall, bringing his beak very close to my face—to my eye. "An eye for an eye. Isn't that the saying?"

I twist my neck with a gasp. Surely he wouldn't—would he?

"No," I growl. "Get off!"

"Hold still, princess," he coos, his voice soft, gurgling. He spreads his wings, gaining height, and clutches my chin in one of his talons, holding it still. He laughs, licking my face, bringing his sharp beak horrifyingly close to my eye. With a grunt, I punch him in the face. He squawks shrilly, shaking his head to and fro. I'm panting.

"So you can't kill me?" I gasp, hoping to distract him. He backs away from my eyes, letting out a hissing chuckle.

"No, unfortunately. I'm specifically supposed to ensure your survival."

"Why?" I ask suspiciously. "I thought you doubted my loyalty."

"I do," he says, "but that doesn't matter. Megatron has big plans for you. You need to be alive to carry out those plans."

"What plans?" I demand. My calf pulses angrily against the punctures.

"Nothing for you to worry about, yet," he says reasonably. "But it is a great honor, I can assure you."

"Why _me?_" I ask. This doesn't feel right. "If I die, why can't he just find someone else?"

"He could," Laserbeak says. "There nothing about _you_ that is special. I suspect he appreciates the… _poetry_ that comes along with _you_ fulfilling his plans. There's a sort of beauty to it, I suppose."

"What do you mean?" Laserbeak just laughs. "What does he have planned, Laserbeak?"

"I'm not going to _tell _you," he laughs. "You'll see soon enough, don't you worry. For now, play your games, and I'll play mine."

"What are you _talking_ about?"

He heaves another heavy, exasperated sigh. "Play your role, Parker Rook. Play your role and stay _in line_, or I will intervene."

I do _not_ like the sound of that. I'm furious. My leg hurts, my head is pounding and this guy is a total asshole.

"So you're _not_ allowed to let me die?"

"No," he confirms, narrowing his eyes and hunkering his head down slightly, suspiciously.

"Hmm," I say, tapping my lips with a finger. Then I smile at him, and he hisses. "You and I are going to have _so much fun_," I say, echoing his words back to him. He lets out a low, screeching snarl. He wants to play this game? Fine. I'll play. And I'll win. If he's not allowed to let me die, I am going to put him through _hell_ trying to keep me alive. Accidents happen? Damn straight accidents happen.

I'm going to be his worst nightmare. I'm going to make this _so hard_ on him.

"Try it," he dares me. "We can play this game, princess, _oh,_ we can play this game."

"I'm loyal to Megatron," I reason, "but I don't like _you_. I wonder how Megs will handle it if you let me die?"

"Try it," he says again. "_Please_ try it." There's bloodlust in his eyes. His voice is an excited, tense growl. His tongue darts out, as though he's _craving_ it, his eyes bright with desire. I disguise my fear with a sneer.

"Let the games begin," I say with a soft laugh. He echoes the laugh, but his is more of a threat—no, a promise of things to come, ensuring me that he will win. We'll see about that. I glare at him after a moment; he hasn't left, and I'm waiting for Boo to notice his presence and raise hell, something that won't end well for the three-legged dog.

"Can I help you with something?" I growl. His eyes are trained on my face, narrowed slightly with loathing. God, this bird makes my skin crawl. The way he moves his head on his neck, almost serpentine in the grace… chills rack my body, tearing at my spine. "I need to _sleep_."

He tilts his head from one side to the other, taking me in. I glare back at him.

"Your Autobot friends haven't returned," he says, his voice mockingly pitying, almost pout-like. "Why do you think that is?"

"They aren't my friends."

"Do you think they're dead?" He asks no one in particular. "I think they're dead."

"I doubt it," I say coldly, shoving him with my legs. "Get _out_ of here."

"Or what," he taunts. I have no way of threatening him, and he knows it. With an icy chuckle, he hops to the edge of my bed, gripping the mattress in his talons. He whips his tail back and forth, catching my cheek. It stings, but doesn't break the skin. He glances back at me, spreading his wings and flexing his talons. Everything about the gesture is threatening.

"I'll be around," he says warningly. "When your Autobot friends return, you had better _convince_ me that you're on our side."

"What do you mean?"

"_Convince. Me._"

I snort, but I'm bluffing. "What exactly are your suspicions, here? You think I'm on their side?"

"Your words; not mine. I've been observing you far longer than you know," he says, folding his wings slightly, eyes narrowed. "And so far, I have every reason to believe you're on their side."

I roll my eyes. "It's called good acting."

"Mm," he growls. "I doubt that, sweet thing."

"What, pray tell, do you want me to do?" My voice is sarcastic. "Shoot them? Hurt them? I'm playing a role here, in case you've forgotten."

"Nothing so extreme," he chuckles, and the sound is sinister. "I have my ways of finding out, don't you worry." He snaps my face with his tail again and I snarl. "I'll see you soon," he promises before dropping from my bed, beating his wings, and disappearing like a shadow out my window. I get up and walk over, hanging my upper body outside and staring out; the Impala is there, just like it has been since the Autobots left.

Autobots. I realize too late that Laserbeak had never tried to feed me the Decepticon lie, had never reversed their names. Shit. That had probably been a huge mistake on my part, going along with it. No wonder he doubted me. I wonder what, exactly, he would put me through to make me prove my loyalty. But it doesn't matter. I'll figure something out.

I stumble back an instant later as Laserbeak comes out of nowhere, exploding in front of my face in a flurry of sharp metal feathers. I stumble back and land on my butt on my floor, shaking and glaring, panting through the fear as her perches in my window.

"One more thing," he croons. "Get rid of those idiot twins. You have a new guardian now. Make sure it happens, or we'll remove them ourselves."

And then he seems to back flip, spiraling away. I get to my feet and glare out at the Impala. I slam my window closed, knowing that, if he wants to, he'll be able to get in anyway. I don't care at the moment. With a groan I limp over to my bed and, shaking slightly, I collapse onto it, burying my face into my pillow to smother a horrified scream. I don't know how much deeper into this I can get without losing it, losing someone, breaking. But I have to pretend. I have to fake it.

Without Laserbeak here to distract me, worry gnaws at my insides, worry for the Autobots, for Lennox, for my brother. I distract myself as I limp into the bathroom, cleaning and bandaging the punctures Laserbeak had left in my calf. When I'm done, I return to bed, surprised that Ronnie and Boo haven't noticed anything wrong yet.

I occupy myself plotting revenge against Laserbeak; I know exactly how I'm going to make his life hell. I think of all the different possibilities, refusing to consider the punishment for my actions. I can do this, I tell myself. He _can't_ let me die. I'll never be in any danger. When I think about it, as long as I cooperate—or even if I don't—the safest place in the world right now is with _him_. It's sickening, but true. He won't let me die, which is exactly why I'm going to make it increasingly difficult for him to keep my alive.

I'm desperate. Desperate people do stupid things. I just know I'm not going to just sit by and take this. I'm going to fight back however I can.

* * *

><p>I spend the next two days at work sore, exhausted, and edgy, under constant supervision of Laserbeak, who is in TV form. When the diner closes and I lock up, Laserbeak shifts and comes with me; I'd been lent Savannah's truck for the time being.<p>

"They're back," Laserbeak tells me, and my heart both soars and sinks. I keep a straight poker face as I climb into the car, trying not to freak out or let my fear show as I change out of my uniform. God, the only one I can ever remember being this scared of is Barricade—and Optimus, too, when we had first met, but he doesn't count anymore. This sort of fear… it's eating away at me.

I flip down the car's mirror above me and touch up my makeup; I'd had to slather on a lot of concealer to hide the faint bruises from Laserbeaks tail. Most people wouldn't notice them, but Optimus would. I also use it to even out my now uneven skintone. Then I apply some bronzer on my cheekbones to give my stressed-pale skin color. Then more mascara to make my eyes look wider, more awake. Eyeshadow to help cover the dark eyes. Colored lip stain to hide my death-pale lips.

I've never worn this much makeup. I _never_ do. I usually go with the basics, even though I love getting dolled up. Now, though, I can't stand it. I'm lying as I do it, hiding my obvious stress from those who care about me. But it's okay, I remind myself. I don't have a choice.

When I'm sure I look normal I drive back home. When I get there, I realize Ronnie isn't home—she must have taken off with Savannah, who I'm sure came home to say hi briefly before returning to base. It's then that I realize _someone_ must have seen Savannah—surely the Impala, who had spent the days waiting upon their arrival. I'm sure it had been he who had informed Laserbeak that the Autobots were back. Does Laserbeak know, then, that I know about my brother? Is he holding it over my head? I don't know. This is dangerous territory. I decide to keep my mouth shut.

I catch a brief glimpse of Laserbeak skirting around the edge of my house, disappearing into the oak tree. And then I spot Optimus in his Peterbilt form, just waiting. _How does he not notice Laserbeak?_ It's driving me insane. He must be cloaking himself, somehow. Can they even _do_ that? I'm sure. Otherwise, Optimus would have noticed and killed him already. As it is, though, he has no idea, and I'm stuck playing the game.

I don't realize until I see him just how deeply I had missed him. I'd been too sidetracked just _worrying_ to really sit back and miss him. But now, seeing him there, it all comes roaring back—the terror, the feelings of being low, a traitor, my desperation, my constant state of fear and tension—just _missing_ him, worrying _about_ him. It had all been too much. So, even though I know it's the stupid thing to do, I jump out of Savannah's truck and rush him. The holoform climbs out to meet me, and I gasp.

"No, no, no," I say. "Get rid of it; I want to be with _you_." A smile lights his face as the man disappears and the _real_ Optimus takes shape, unfolding from the Peterbilt. It's easier this way, but it's also harder. I can't make out with him this way, as I'd been sorely tempted to do with the holoform, and doing so wouldn't make things with Laserbeak tenser. But it's harder in that this is _him_, entirely. It's harder to lie to this face.

He crouches down, bracing his elbows on his knees as I reach him with a gasp, stretching up and drawing his face down to mine. I'm so relieved to see him here, safe; Laserbeak had had me worrying more than ever. It's so good to feel him, to feel his metal beneath my palms, the warmth of his breath, the rumble that rises in his chest, reverberating through my body as I hold him as best I can. It's _so achingly good_ to just feel his forehead against mine, pressed there, moving against my skin, kissing him his way, just being with him. It's more wonderful than anything else. And I want to hold on to this blissful feeling before the dark feelings steal it away, reminding me of just what sort of person I am.

His hand against my back, cupping my body to his face, his eyes closed, almost breaks me. When he opens his eyes and his face if full of nothing but clear, open affection and fondness, I almost can't take it. So I don't have to see the expression anymore, because I can't stand to see him look at me that way now, I close my eyes and press against him. His chuckle, the way he strokes a finger over the top of my head and down my spine, following the length of my body, nearly does me in.

"Hi," I breathe, my nails catching at his metal. I keep my eyes closed. I want this moment. I don't want to see Laserbeak in the oak behind him.

"Parker," he says my name, and the emotion behind it makes me press more tightly to his face. There's a certain level of desperation as I do it, and I wonder if he senses it. Without pulling his face from mine, he turns his head oddly, so that his forehead, the bridge of his nose, and his cheek brushes against my body, the best sort of cuddle he can offer, given the size difference.

"Hi," I breathe again, and this time my voice catches. I take a deep, steadying breath. He makes a low, satisfied sound, a sound of contentment.

"It is good to see you," he tells me gently, lifting his face slightly and resting his lips against my forehead. I just lean against them, unwilling to move.

"I'm so glad you're okay," I whisper. How much time do we have? What is Laserbeak planning? "I—I've been so scared." It's not a lie. I'm suddenly determined _not_ to lie to him. I may not tell the truth, but I _will not lie_. I can't. Not with him here, touching me with so much gentleness, so much raw affection on his face.

"I'm sorry," he tells me, his lips moving against my skin before he pulls away to look at me better. "We took longer than expected, I know. But—"

"I don't even care," I say with a choked laugh. "God, I don't care. I'm just glad you're here."

"Parker," he says slowly, looking slightly puzzled. "You are acting strangely. Are you alright?"

_Don't lie,_ I tell myself. "I've just—I've been freaking out. Worrying. I missed you."

"And I missed you," he says fondly, stroking my face with the back of two fingers before running them gently along the curve of my waist. "But I'm home now. You do not need to worry."

"I know," I breathe, and then I see it, the movement in the tree. Laserbeak and I make eye contact as Optimus draws me in again, and I press my body to his cheek. Very minutely, I shake my head, giving him a hard look and a smirk. I try to silently tell him _See? It's an act. Wrapped around my little finger._

When he looks back at me, his eyes just narrow, and his message is clear: _Prove it._

And then he moves.

Softly, incredibly silently, he perches on a closer branch. I realize, for the first time, that his tail is an actual weapon, a gun of some sort. And he aims it at Optimus, at his back. I don't know what to do. Every instinct within me screams to either run, or to attack, or to somehow get myself between Optimus and the gun. But I can't. There's no time. My eyes widen before I glare at Laserbeak. My eyes say: _I dare you._ My heart says: _Please, God, don't._

The weapon charges and my resolve falters. He's going to go through with it. I can _feel_ it. It doesn't make sense, it doesn't fit the plan, but Laserbeak is insane enough to do it. I watch his body tense as he prepares to fire. I gasp, clutching Optimus closer to me, choking on a sob as I mouth the words to Laserbeak: _"Please don't, please don't, please…_"

"Parker?" Optimus pulls away slightly. This had all happened in the span of maybe three seconds, but it was three seconds too much. I glance briefly at Laserbeak, whose eyes are cold. But his weapon has discharged. Silently, he takes to the air and disappears. "Parker," Optimus's voice is very serious. I face him, relief making my legs weak. I'd just screwed up so badly. So very badly.

I care for him too much. That's my problem. I care too much, and it's made me weak, and now we'll suffer for it.

"What is wrong?"

I offer him a watery, relieved smile. I don't lie. "I'm just—relieved. You're safe."

He quirks his head to the side, leaning back on his heels, still crouched. Again, he looks puzzled. Terror makes me smile. The realization of my screw up slithers coldly down my spine, like ice water. I press up on my tiptoes, though, knowing that I'm screwed anyway, and I catch him by his chin and pull him down, peppering his sensitive forehead with kisses.

"Optimus," I say between kisses, my hands trembling. "Let's go. Can we go somewhere?"

"Of course," he murmurs absently, pressing me closer as I continue to kiss the spot softly. Finally I pull away, pressing my palms against his metal

"Let's go."

* * *

><p>My original plan had been to put some distance between us. But the cat's out of the bag, now. Do I still want to create distance? If it means keeping him safe from harm, then yes, especially considering Megatron's plan to take me—and hurt him, as a result.<p>

Right now, though, creating distance is the last thing on my mind.

He's sitting on the ground, leaning against a tree; we'd decided to come out and watch the stars, since the night is particularly clear. I'm perched on his shoulder, and his head is tilted back, lips parted just slightly, his eyes closed as I delve my fingers beneath his metal and armor, stroking gently against the wires beneath.

I'm _supposed_ to be untangling them; that's what I'd told him to let me do. However, it's entirely possible that I'm having more fun with it. Just like last time, he's pretty blissed out; everything about his posture screams it. I smile to myself as I climb cautiously over his shoulder to a new spot before reaching down and running my hands tenderly over the wires.

He groans, leaning his head back a little more, and I smile. I run my hands over the undersides of his armor, which I had discovered is also particularly sensitive, since it rarely gets any attention. Moving about a foot or so down, I slip my hands under again, trailing the wires between my fingers, untangling a twisted little knot. The shoulder flexes slightly as he clenches his hand on the ground, making another soft sound.

"_Parker_."

"Hmm?"

"That feels… amazing." I just smile, giving the wires a soft tug as I move to a new spot; he squirms slightly at the tugging sensation, eyes still closed.

This—pleasing him this way—helps ease some of the guilt. Not that I'm doing it _solely_ for that reason. I hadn't meant it that way, honestly, but it does help ease the guilt of what I'm doing. God, I'm so guilty. So doing this, causing him pleasure in even the smallest way, helps me, if only a little. In my own small way, I can make it up to him. Does it balance out the betrayal? Of course not. But for now, it helps me. So I spend a good few minutes on a particular spot, and I don't stop until I can see the bliss on his face.

After a while, though, he snatches me up, holding me with a firm gentleness in his palm, my legs dangling, my arms wrapped over the side of his hand. I laugh, trying not to think about Laserbeak. But I can't ignore him. Optimus draws me against his warm chest and I lean back against his arm, staring up at the stars, trying to be content in this moment while I have it. For a while we stare at the stars, trying to pick out the satellites and constellations.

"This is nice," I sigh after a while. "Just… _being_ with you. It's nice."

"I agree," he rumbles, stroking me gently. "Are you sure that you don't want the holoform—"

"Maybe later," I tell him, patting his thumb. "But for now, I just want _you_, okay? Let's just _be_."

He makes a sound like a smile as I climb onto his shoulder, leaning against his face. We don't talk about anything in particular, really. He hasn't asked about my strange behavior yet, but I know it's coming. I start trembling just thinking about it, and he notices.

"I know," he finally sighs, and my heart stops. "I know you're keeping something from me, Parker; I'm not a fool. I wish you would tell me. Whatever it is that has you so distressed, I can help."

I don't respond immediately. I consider telling him the truth. I should. Shouldn't I? But if I tell him, what will happen? Will he be killed? Will I be used against him? Will he lose faith in me? I just don't know. There are too many what ifs. I have to do the best I can.

"Optimus," I whisper, keeping my voice soft so that it doesn't crack. I _need_ to know this. I slide down his chest and he catches me, holding me at eye level, fixing me with a serious, tender look, a look of understanding. I stare intently into his eyes. "Optimus, do you trust me?" It's a real question, one I haven't asked him. I need an answer, a real answer.

For a few moments we just stare into each other's eyes. He doesn't answer, and part of me thinks—and _hopes_—he's going to say no. I won't be letting him down if he says no; I'll only be letting myself down, which I can do. He blinks slowly, then nods.

"I do," he says, sounding as though he's only just realizing it himself for the first time, coming to terms with it.

"Entirely?" I ask.

"Yes."

"Okay," I breathe, and I clutch his thumb, staring at him imploringly. "Then I need you to trust me now. And just _remember_ that you trust me." And then, right when I'm about to tip him off, I can't do it. I lie. "There is _nothing_ going on, okay? I've just been upset while you've been gone, worried, because I saw the damage from last time. But I promise—I _swear_—there isn't anything going on that you need to worry about." I reach forward and brush my hand over his cheek. The fact that I can lie to him like this, with a straight face, makes me sick. But there's too much at risk. Laserbeak's words slither around in my mind: _I will kill them all_. I won't let him take them from me.

Optimus sighs, nodding. "What can I do to help?"

"This is fine," I assure him, relieved that he bought it. "Just being with you, like I said. This is enough."

He sighs, and it's an almost sad sigh. "Sometimes I don't know how to be close to you," he confesses. I blink up at him, glad to be in safer territory.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean _me_. The holoform." He shrugs uncomfortably "I want to be close to you, but I do not know… _how_. What you were just doing, with my wires—it was pleasant. And yet, in this form, I cannot offer you the same comforts." He sighs. "But you seem uncomfortable with the holoform. It is frustrating."

I smile at him gently. "You're over thinking it," I tell him, wondering if Savannah had had anything to do with this. "Optimus, _this_ is fine with me. And so is the holoform. I like _this_ version of you best, even if the holoform is sometimes more convenient. But I know you're uncomfortable in it, which makes _me_ uncomfortable, because I'm worried about the _real_ you—"

"Don't be," he says gently. "Parker, I use the holoform _for_ you; to be closer to you in ways that I cannot in this form. Accept that."

"I know," I murmur. I kiss his thumb, then grin up at him. "Fine then. Let's be close. Activate the holoform, if you want."

He sets me gently on the ground, transforms into the Peterbilt, and the holoform climbs out. He looks much less wounded this time, with only a few scrapes and bruises. He's smiling, his eyes glowing brightly. I step into him and, without any hesitation, seal my mouth over his with a smile, wrapping my arms around his neck. I back him into the side of the Peterbilt, my worries evaporation in the wake of the kisses; his back hits the truck with a solid _thump_ and I press against him, running my fingers through his hair as I kiss him.

"Close enough?" I murmur against his mouth.

"Not at all," he replies, cupping the back of my neck, taking more control than usual and tilting my head to one side, angling the kiss just right. I smile; he's improving, learning. I notice that _he's_ the one making the kiss more intense; _he's_ the one making all the moves, drawing me in deeper. I smile against his lips, my teeth snagging at his lower before I playfully duck away from his mouth, kissing his throat.

Still unused to the sensations, he wriggles. When I don't let up, he makes a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl. It's obvious that he'd been trying to do well, trying to please me with the holoform. Not that he _needs_ to try. As I continue with the ticklish kisses against his throat and the underside of his jaw, and he continues wriggling, he suddenly seizes my hips with a grunt, spinning us around and pressing me against the side of the truck—_him_.

Laserbeak's holds, the punctures in my flesh caused by his talons are still sore. Optimus's hands there cause the pain to flare up, and I gasp in pain. He freezes.

"Did I hurt you?" His eyes widen slightly. "I'm sorry. I—"

"You didn't hurt me," I say breathily as the pain subsides; his hands are gentle, the skin is just tender. I loop my arms around his neck and draw him closer, cuddling his forehead, stealing a kiss, which turns into another kiss, and then our lips are locked again, and we're kissing playfully, smiling, laughing softly.

It's the best kiss I've ever had, hands down.

He brushes his hand through my hair, trailing it down my neck, then up across my jaw. I bite down and tug playfully on his lower lip, causing him to laugh at the different sensation. Why, I wonder, does he make me _so happy?_ I've never had this much _fun_ kissing someone, just playful little kisses, nothing too hot or heavy. And somehow, in the giddy, playfulness of these kisses, they're the most intimate I've ever had.

Things eventually do turn more serious, and we move into the back seat of the truck, where the kisses grow more heated, less innocent and playful. Our breathing grows heavier, my heartbeat quicker, our bodies more flushed as he leans over me, kissing me deeply; he'd learned tongue quickly, and is less clumsy now. He isn't a world class kisser, either, but _man_ am I enjoying myself. The kiss quickly intensifies, the movements more aggressive, both of us more breathless.

"Mmm," he finally groans against my mouth as I surface for air, staring up at him. He leans in for another kiss, but this one is decidedly more innocent, a soft peck on the lips. "We should stop," he says sheepishly. "I'm still not entirely used to this body—to sensations. I'm still not ready—I can't handle too much sensation at once. It is overwhelming."

"Gotcha," I say, stealing another kiss, causing him to smile and close his eyes. I understand; it must be difficult, really _feeling_ this way. I definitely understand his need to slow down, because it's so easy to get lost. As he'd said, it might be overwhelming.

He drops me off at home a while later; we'd both been in exceptionally good moods as we'd said our good-byes. I'd even managed to convince him to give Mudflap and Skids a couple of days off to rest from the mission, insisting that I was in no trouble. In reality, I need them gone to accomplish what I have planned next. If I am going to put myself in danger, I don't need them trying to save me.

No. That will be Laserbeak's job.

**NOTE: Review, review, review! :D Are you guys ok with my kissing scenes? Also, in case anyone is wondering, Laserbeak can't kill OP because they need him in DOTM, remember? So obviousl Laserbeak won't kill him. But Parker doesn't know that, and he holds it over his head.**


	40. Chapter 40

**NOTE: More progress will come next chapter, which I AM SO EXCITED TO WRITE. Enjoy, and review please!**

**Also, excuse any typos. **

Chapter 40

This is it; time to play my _own_ game. It's around three in the morning, a day since I'd seen Optimus. Mudflap and Skids and Savannah are back at base. I'd snuck out with Savannah's truck; no one but the Decepticons knows I'm here, which is exactly what I want. Last night, Laserbeak had threatened Optimus after he'd dropped me off back home, and that had been the final straw. He'd made up my mind.

I'd parked the car a little ways away. The Impala is parked near it, watching me, engine purring. We're on a bridge over a body of water about an hour from home.

_I can't believe I'm doing this._

Because I'm a coward, and I'd been terrified of losing my nerve—am I _really_ about to do this?—I'd decided to steal some alcohol from Ronnie. I hadn't pegged her for the drinking type; I figured the bottles were left over from Savannah's going away party, something I'd been told extensively about. I'd uncorked the bottle of apple flavored vodka after I'd parked, tossing back a few scorching mouthfuls.

"Gah," I grunt, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand; the vodka burns my mouth, my throat. I'd been careful not to eat anything today; the alcohol hits me that much harder, that much faster, which is perfect. I can feel it burning like a fire in my belly; I'd started drinking a while ago, and I've got a steady buzz going, thanks to the strength of the vodka. But the buzz is edging away into more full-on drunkenness, and I know I need to stop before I physically can't do what I'd come here to do.

I stare blearily at the edge of the bridge, at the cords and wires stretching up. I glance at the clear bottle in my hand. "Come on, liquid courage," I mumble. I take a bracing breath before I tilt my head back and down another few mouthfuls quickly, gritting my teeth against the burn. My eyes water, but I think I've had enough.

I can _definitely_ feel the effects now; it's amazing how hard it hits on an empty stomach. My buzz has turned into a heavy thrum, my head slightly foggy; I feel less in control now, but the task at hand seems less daunting. I make my way over to the edge of the bridge and hold the vodka straight out, looking sadly at it before I down one more mouthful and toss the bottle and its contents over the edge. I watch it fall, but it doesn't really affect me. Yep. I've definitely had enough.

Thanks to the late—or early?—hour, there's no one around. The Impala and I are the only ones here as I wrap my fingers clumsily around the wires, hoisting myself up onto the low wall. I spin around so that my back is to the wires, still gripping them tightly, and stare out at the dark water. The feeling is exhilarating! I start to laugh, then throw my head back and whoop. My fingers slip, and I yelp and grasp them more tightly, giggling.

I spin around again, throwing my head back, feeling oddly _free_. I'm facing the Impala now, my back to the water. I hear him transform, watch as the scarred robot limps over to me, a stern, hard look on his face. He must have told Laserbeak. He should be here, soon. _Perfect_.

The Impala reaches a hand toward me, and I cry out, swinging my body back dangerously.

"Go away!"

He just stares at me sternly, his one good eye vibrant, shaking his head slowly.

"Stay back!"

He shakes his head again before tilting it skyward. I look up too, the wind whipping at my hair, and sure enough, Laserbeak is here. He perches sideways, like a parrot, on the wires parallel to mine. His face is livid, and he lets out an angry screech.

"Look who's tardy to the party," I laugh drunkenly.

"What are you doing?" He demands. "Get down from there!"

"Nah," I say, swinging from one hand to another, my feet rotating. I kick off my shoes, and they fall to the water far below. "I like it up here."

Another irritated screech; he's definitely agitated. I start to laugh again. "Meggers won't be too happy if I fall, will he?"

"This isn't a game," he hisses tensely. "Get _down_ from there."

"Nope, nope," I laugh, my voice singing. "Are you going to _make_ me? You and the piece of shit Impala?"

"Oh, the things I will do to you…"

"Can't do them if I'm dead," I counter.

"Are you intoxicated?" He asks in disbelief.

"Ehh," I say, narrowing my eyes and releasing the chords with one hand; he lunges forward tensely, wings flared. I pinch my fingers together, allowing a tiny gap between them. "Little bit."

He growls lowly; I can see the tension in his body. Then his eyes narrow. "Fine," he says. "Do it."

I laugh some more. "Remember what happened last time you tested me? I shot out your eye."

"Do it," he says more sternly, calling my bluff. So I release the wires and tilt my body back fractionally; for a second it looks like I'm going to fall, and he screeches and lunges forward; the wires are too thick for him to seize me off the wires, so he's stuck. I grasp the wires firmly, hauling myself back to safety.

Livid is an understatement, now.

"Oops," I grin at him, swinging back and forth. I twist again, facing the water, leaning out over it. In the back of my mind I know this isn't safe; I hadn't planned on being this reckless. But Drunk Parker is a very reckless person. Oh, well.

"I don't think Megatron would be too happy if you let me die," I warn him loudly, swinging one leg out. I glance over at him over my shoulder and put on a pouty face. "Aw, what's the matter, pretty bird? Don't like games?"

"We can play games," he shrieks. "Oh, we can play, sweet thing! The harder you make this on me, the harder I will be on you."

"Sounds kinky," I tell him with a wink. He growls lowly, but I'm too drunk to find the sound as scary as I normally do. Now, it's just funny. "Come on," I taunt him. "Do something. Whatcha gonna do?"

I twist out over the water and release the wires with one hand, my body swinging. He screeches and I lean back far before whipping myself back up with a wild laugh.

"Enough!" He snarls. "Enough games!"

"I'm not done yet," I say playfully. "Come on."

"_Get down!_"

"I don't feel like it. I like it up here." I start humming to myself, listening to him rant as I shimmy away from him. He flutters and hops form wire to wire, but he can't grab me.

"I will kill him for this, you know," he growls from above me. I freeze; this is the only thing that cuts through my drunken haze. A snarl curls my lips as he stares into my eyes.

"Don't touch him."

It's Laserbeak's turn to laugh. He twists his neck, his head practically upside down as he regards me. "You love him, don't you? I knew it. I knew I was right."

"I do not _love_ him," I growl. Laserbeak shakes his head sadly, sighing.

"I wonder," he taunts, "how Megatron would react to _that_ news."

"Don't," I gasp. I'm too drunk to realize he's beating me at my own game, now, too drunk to be witty. I'm off. I'm not smart enough, now, to lie to him; I'm weak, vulnerable, and too drunk to realize it. "Don't tell him."

"Hmm," he muses, "Megatron's pet… the pet in love with her master's treacherous brother… No, I don't think he would handle that well at all."

"Leave him alone!" I beg, clutching the wires tightly.

"I think," Laserbeak says slowly, "that he would have the Prime killed."

"_No!"_

"Yes," Laserbeak coos. "He did it once; he can do it again."

"What are you talking about," I say slowly. Killed him once?

"Oh, yes," Laserbeak tells me. "Didn't you know? Megatron killed the Prime, but he was resurrected."

This makes me want to be sick. "You're lying."

"I am not." Laserbeak's voice is nonchalant. I swallow, trying to wrap my mind around this idea. So much I hadn't known. A tear slides down my cheek. "Oh," Laserbeak says, giving a delicious little shudder. "Perhaps I _will_ tell Megatron. This is a beautiful thing. We can take you, torment you, and let the Prime watch…"

"_Leave him alone!_" I lunge against the wires. Laserbeak squawks before chuckling darkly.

"Who is in control now, plaything?"

I glare at him. "I am," I snarl before releasing the wires. He shrieks as I stumble back, grabbing the wires again; I'd almost been too late that time. "Whoa," I giggle. "That was a _close_ one!" We stare each other down, having reached a stalemate, our threats hanging above each other's heads. "Well," I say after a few minute of silence, of staring, "_this_ is awkward."

My heart is hammering. But through my drunken haze, I am determined. I can't let him win; not this time. We both have valuable bargaining chips; I have my life, and Laserbeak holds my secret.

"Let's make a deal, shall we?" His voice is severely angry, but conversational. I smile. I lean over the water and he twitches nervously.

"Your terms?"

"You and I can be friends, Parker," he rasps nervously as I lean over the water.

"Hmm," I say, "I don't want to be your friend."

"Climb down," he tells me, "and you won't be punished this time."

I snort. "I don't care about _that_," I bluff. "Try again." He lets out the most annoyed cry yet. "I have an idea!" I sing brightly, and he narrows his eyes. "How about this? I climb down from the bridge, and you keep your beak _shut._" He just stares, shifting his shoulders from side to side, hunkering down. "Don't tell Megatron, and I'll make it easy on you. I won't put myself in danger."

"And if I disagree?"

"I jump," I shrug.

"And if I catch you?"

"I'll try again," I say. "There are so many ways to die; I'm sure you know that. I can get creative, and I'll make this whole _guardian_ thing hell on you and the Impala."

He growls lowly. I lean my body out a little further, and then further and even further still. I release one hand.

"Offer expires in three," I tell him. "Two…" I release a finger and lean even further. He just stares at me. "One."

I release wire; I only do because I see him launch into the air the _instant_ he thinks I've let go. Otherwise, I would have held on. Maybe. I plummet over the edge with a gasp, but before I can scream, before more than a second has passed, he's gripping my shirt in his talons, hauling my back and tossing me on the concrete. I roll with a gasping laugh; the laughter is wild, uncontrollable from the rush.

"_Fine!_" He shrieks. "Fine!" He knows I'm serious now.

"We'll keep it all between us?"

"We will," he snarls furiously.

"Good," I tell him. "Glad we've come to this under—_argh!_"

He attacks. I've started to sit up clumsily, still laughing as I speak, when he launches himself at me, knocking me back. His talons ruck my shirt up around my ribs before grasping my hips and digging his talons in ruthlessly. I cry out as the razor-sharp hooks dig into my flesh; I'm pinned on my back and I squirm desperately, but he's relentless.

"Oh, _God,_" I cry in pain, writhing. "Stop it, _stop—eurgh!_" My scream is high-pitched, desperate as he twists his talons slightly, tearing just a little bit.

"You will pay," he snarls in my ear. "Do you understand me? _No one_ makes a fool out of me!"

"Stop," I cry, tears streaking down my cheeks. I try to roll over, but I can't. My back arches against my will as his talons dig in deeper, scraping against the front of my hip bone. I make a gagging sound, my scream cutting out, going soundless, my eyes squeezed shut. "Oh—_God—_stop—_please stop_—"

"Shut up," he snarls, releasing me slightly before digging again. I scream, suddenly regretting having chosen to come at a time when no one is around. He releases me enough and I roll over onto my belly, crawling desperately across the pavement before he lands again, digging his claws back in. I collapse under his weight, screaming against the agony of his talons scraping against my bones. My fingers tear at the concrete, trying to ground myself against the pain.

"Don't," I beg him, abandoning my pride, suddenly incredibly sober. "Please, _please_ stop—_gah!_"

"What's the matter," he coos in my ear as I make horribly twisted, inhuman sounds against the pain. "Done playing games?"

"Yes," I scream, choking. "_Yes! _I'm done—_I'm done!_"

"Promise?"

"_YES!"_

"Good," he coos, suddenly releasing my hips before nuzzling his beak into my hair, dragging his tongue over my ear, over the base of my neck, where sweat has gathered. He hops away and I roll over onto my back, curling up. My hips feel like they're _on fire_. I can't catch my breath. "That's only the beginning of that I have planned for you. Try something like that again, and I'll have you wishing you were never born. And then I will snap your spine like a _twig_, so you won't be _able_ to walk. The next time you try to die, you have better pray that you are successful."

"Our deal," I rasp, trembling.

"I'll stand by my word," he tells me, then a warning tone slips into his voice. "Ensure that you stand by yours." I nod, my cheek scraping the ground. If he doesn't tell, I'll stay safe. That had been the agreement. I'll stand by it; I can't handle pain like this again. How will I even _walk_ in the morning?

"You," Laserbeak snaps, presumably to the Impala. "Get her home; I have other things that need to be taken care of." And he flies away into the night, leaving me crumpled, groaning on the pavement.

A moment later the Impala rolls to a stop beside my head, popping open the passenger's door. I take a moment to steady myself, getting to my feet. I try not to lean on him, but I can't help it; my hips are in too much pain, and the alcohol is still affecting my body, if not my mind. I manage to slide inside, completely apprehensive, but certain, at the same time, that I am safe. He drives me home, and the ride is _completely_, eerily silent. No music. No speaking. It's like he's a normal car, aside from the fact that there's no driver. There's just nothing.

Silence.

We get back home quickly, because he speeds. He makes a sharp turn and opens the door, casting me out before he transforms and opens my window, scooping me up and pressing me inside, where I collapse against the bed. I close and lock my window before tiptoeing to the bathroom to shower. I peel off my now-bloodied clothes and stand in front of the mirror, naked, feeling sickened at the sight of my hips.

They're already bruising. Blood is oozing slowly, but they're only deep punctures, at worst, a slight slit there and there. They're surprisingly clean, not as gory as they feel. But, because they're punctures, the bleeding is slow and steady. And the trauma, the scratching of my bones leaves them in a constant state of agony.

After I've showered, I pat the wounds dry and cover them in large, square bandages to halt the bleeding, though it doesn't help much. The cold shower had helped sober me up, but I'm sure I'll be hung over in the morning. Lying down is incredibly painful; I have to lie on my back, perfectly still. Part of me wants to go to the hospital, but how will I explain it to Ronnie? I can't. So I decide to let myself heal. That's the best.

But, in spite of the night's violent end, I can't help but be sort of ecstatic. I had _won_. _I_ had won. _Me._ Finally. I'd accomplished what I'd set out to do. Laserbeak had threatened the night before to rat me out, and I'd decided to stop him this way. Thank God it had worked. I feel incredibly successful at the moment, empowered. And, even though I'm in over my head, I can't help but smile through my tears.

The ecstasy is short lived, however. While I'm proud of myself, the terror starts to gnaw away at me almost immediately. I'm seriously in over my head. I need help. I can't do this alone, but I don't know who to turn to. I have never in my life felt more isolated, more helpless. Everything I do is watched, controlled. Everything. I have nothing, no freedom; I'm a prisoner, though I walk free.

Laserbeak's threats still loom over my head, even though he'd promised to keep this between us. Can he be trusted? What if he'd been lying? What if he tells? I can't even imagine that; the thought makes me sick. But, for now, I revel in my small triumph. Because, this time, I had truly protected Optimus; there's no telling what would have happened had I allowed Laserbeak to rat on us.

That, at least, I can be proud of.

* * *

><p><em><span>Savannah<span>_

It's after hours when my phone rings. I pick it up, knowing before I answer who it is.

"Hey, Babe."

"Hi," Ronnie breathes; I can immediately tell there's something wrong.

"What happened?" I ask, fear skirting down my spine. "Ronnie, what's wrong?"

"N-nothing," she says, then clears her throat. "Well—_maybe_ something, I'm not sure."

"What do you mean?" She sighs heavily.

"I mean… Parker," she says grudgingly, and I'm confused. "I—I don't want to sound like a snitch or anything, I really don't, but…"

"Just tell me, Ronnie," I tell her gently. For some reason, I've already started making my way toward the Autobots. If something is wrong with P, Optimus would want to know. And I have a bad feeling about this; Optimus, Mudflap, and Skids had all picked up on something.

"I don't know," she sighs as I jog toward the hangar. When I make it in, I signal for Optimus to tap into the line. He gives me a confused look before nodding in understanding. The line crackles briefly, and I know he's listening. "She… she's just acting _weird._"

"Weird how?" Ronnie groans, clearly uncomfortable. "Please tell me."

"It's just… lately, you know? She's been really jumpy and paranoid. At first I didn't think much of it, because of what you told me. I know she'd been through a lot. But… while you were gone, she was _arrested._"

I hadn't heard about this. "Arrested? For what?"

"She broke into the diner she works at," Ronnie says dismissively. "At first I didn't think about it; she said she forgot her purse and forgot about the silent alarm. But, Savannah, I _know_ she didn't forget her purse."

I rub my forehead and glance at Optimus, raising my eyebrows. "What else, Ronnie? I need to know."

"Just little things," Ronnie says. "She sneaks out late at night, and people sneak into her room. She doesn't know I know, but I hear her talking to someone. He's got the _creepiest_ voice." I can almost hear Ronnie shudder on the other end of the line.

"Do you know his name?"

"No," she says. "I haven't talked to her about it."

"Is that all?"

"No," Ronnie says softly. "I think she's stealing."

"What?"

"Remember that apple vodka we had?" She asks me, and I nod; a spare bottle from the party.

"Yes," I tell her.

"She snuck out two nights ago, and I don't know where she went. But the next morning, the vodka was gone. And she was totally hung over." She pauses for a breath. "And then, yesterday, I heard her talking to that guy again, in her room. So I went in to check, you know? But he was gone. And she just had a TV—a _huge_ plasma screen, the expensive kind. I _know_ she can't afford that, because she paid for her bail and to get my car out of impound."

"Did she say where she got it?"

"Work," Ronnie says. "But she seemed all jumpy; the guy was probably in her closet. She said she had to fix it." Ronnie takes a steadying breath. "Savannah, she's into something bad. I know you said she was damaged goods, and I can just _sense_ it."

"What are you thinking?"

"Honestly?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know. Part of me thinks she's found herself an abusive boyfriend."

"What? Why?"

"I've noticed bruises on her face, but she covers them with makeup. And she's been limping lately. I haven't told her, though. Oh, and the guy drives an Impala. I think he may be stalking her; that would explain the jumpiness, and the Impala is _always_ around when I hear his voice. It just feels _wrong _to me. I have a bad feeling, and she's not talking to me. I've asked her if she's feeling okay, and she always says she's fine, but I don't believe it."

Ronnie pauses again. "At first I thought it was that army guy, your friend who drives the truck. But it's always an _Impala_. I don't know." Optimus looks mildly offended; mostly, though, he just looks blank, drawn.

"She wouldn't tell you anyway," I say, dread settling in my stomach. This definitely sounds like a problem. "Ronnie, is there _anything_ else you can tell me?"

"That's it," she whispers, and her voice is shaking. "Savannah, I feel _horrible_. I feel like a snitch, but I'm just _so worried_ for her—"

"It's okay," I tell her gently. "Really. _Thank you_ for telling me."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Leave it, for now," I tell her. "She won't talk to you if you confront her about it. I have an idea; I'll deal with it, okay?"

"Okay," she says faintly, guilt clear in her voice.

"Thank you," I tell her gently. "I mean it. Thank you."

"Mm-hmm."

"I miss you," I tell her, and Optimus disconnects. "And I love you. And I can't wait to see you again."

"Ditto," she says, her voice slightly lighter.

"Babe," I say softly, glancing at Optimus; he's rigid, fists clenched. "I've got to take care of something. I'll call you later."

"Okay."

"Love you."

"I love you, too."

We disconnect, and I glance up at Optimus. "What do you think?" He shakes his head stiffly.

"I knew it," he says. "I _knew_ she was lying to me."

"What're we gonna do?"

"I'll handle this," he says, and I'm glad Ironhide is off training. He would be livid. If my hunch is correct, that is.

"How?"

Optimus looks down at me. "I think I know what's going on," he says. "I knew she was lying, and for a moment, I believed she would tell me. But she didn't." He pauses. "I have an idea of what might be happening," he says slowly. "I am going to see her."


	41. Chapter 41

**NOTE: I love the way this ends. They're so cute! **

Chapter 41

Ronnie and I are washing the cars when Optimus pulls up, which surprises me, because I hadn't been expecting him. I glance at Skids, completely soaked and sudsy; he hadn't warned me of this visit. Not that I'm unhappy about it. Seeing him brings a huge smile to my face, and a feeling of contentedness blooms through my body, my heart swelling until it feels like there's simply no room for it left in my chest.

In the two days since my deal with Laserbeak, things had been less tense between us—between me and the two Decepticons, that is. There is a general sort of understanding between us all now. If I obeyed, they would obey. We don't get along, but as long as we all behave, we can coexist. It's far more than I would have ever thought to ask for.

Laserbeak had been none too pleased at Skids's appearance, and I still need to figure out a way to make him leave me. I'm still scared of slipping up, but now that my feelings for Optimus are known, I feel even _more_ terrified of messing up. Because, now, his life is more at stake than ever. But I'd handled it for the time being, and I can deal with that.

My hips are in a constant state of pain. The bruising has worsened, and I'm a little stiff when I walk, though I've been able to hide it, for the most part. But there's still a lot of pain, and I have to be careful not to touch them at all; the slightest brush against the wounds leaves me breathless with tears in my eyes. But I can handle it; it had been worth it.

Ronnie casts Optimus a dark, suspicious look as he pulls up, dropping her sponge in her bucket and glowering at the massive truck. She'd been working on her baby, and we'd been chatting and laughing. But, upon seeing him, her smile had faded.

_Okay_, I think to myself, _what is that about?_

I give her a weird look and slap my sponge playfully against Skids's side; it's fun, I've realized, trying to make him squirm when he _can't_, not in front of Ronnie.

"Hi," I say, resting my sponge on Skids's hood. I approach him with a warm, excited smile, my stomach all twitchy and nervous—but in a good way. He looks good, without wounds; healthy. I wrap him in my arms, giving him an extra hard squeeze because I can now, because I don't have to hide it, and because I'm just so happy to see him, knowing I'd dealt with a major problem where his life had been concerned. "Wasn't expecting you," I murmur into his shoulder. He's wearing a black t-shirt and dark blue jeans. He looks uncomfortable at my affections. I look up at his face and my heart stops.

"Optimus," I breathe, "what _happened?_" His face is very grave, very serious. I step away from him to get a better look, my stomach churning. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything is fine," he says, "you do not need to worry about anyone back at base."

"Well then what's with that _look_," I ask slowly. His eyes, which hadn't yet met mine, finally focus on my face. They look infinitely troubled, conflicted, tinged with sadness.

"Parker," he says slowly, his voice very serious, "we need to—"

"Hi there," Ronnie pipes up, sauntering over, her eyes suspicious as she looks at Optimus.

"Hello," he says, inclining his head slightly. He looks mildly uneasy as her eyes flick up and down his body, taking him in. Then she glances at me.

"Is there a problem?" She asks me very seriously.

"What? No, Ronnie," I say, surprised. "Everything's fine."

"Mm-hmm," she says, giving Optimus another dark look. "If you need _anything_," she says, "you let me know."

"Yeah, sure," I say, taken aback. She squeezes my arm gently before heading back over to her bug, giving us occasional dark looks. Optimus just shakes his head, seeming unsettled.

"What was that about?"

"I have an idea," he says absently, his eyes trained on something in the distance. Something is _definitely_ wrong with him, and it's making me nervous. His eyes flick to my face, searching, roving over my skin; I can feel his gaze like a touch. His eyes darken and he scans my body; I'm wearing a lime green v-neck sweatshirt with headphones and music notes on it and a pair of skintight black leggings. The leggings cover the wound Laserbeak had inflicted in my calf, and apply enough pressure to my hips that it keeps them from _screaming_, at least. It's the clothing equivalent to putting pressure on, say, a smashed finger.

He shakes his head minutely, and I take an uneasy step back. The serious set to his broad shoulders tells me that something is not right, but I have no idea what's going on. He'd said everyone back at base was fine—

"Can you go for a drive?" He asks me, glancing briefly at Ronnie.

"Sure," I say, "I was just washing Skids, but—"

"He'll be fine," Optimus says seriously, and something cold slithers down my spine. I nod numbly, preparing myself for the worst. "This can't wait." He doesn't touch me, just nods at the Peterbilt. I dry my hands on a towel.

"Ronnie," I call, "I'm going for a drive, okay? I'll be back in a bit."

"But—"

"It's important," I tell her.

"Okay," she sighs, looking more conflicted than I've ever seen her. "Be careful, okay?"

I nod and haul myself into the Peterbilt as Optimus climbs into the driver's seat. As soon as we pull out of the driveway, the holoform disappears. I dry my suddenly sweaty palms on my leggings, wondering what this could be about. He doesn't speak, and the air in the cab is tense. But the more I think about it, the more I think I've got it figured out.

He's busy. He's a near-immortal robot. Savannah's words must have finally hit him. I sigh and brace myself for what I'm sure is to come. We're not officially boyfriend and girlfriend, terms which sound ridiculous when applied to us, anyway. We haven't put a label on things. We're just—_us_. I realize he must be ending it, which I can't say surprises me, because logically, I know it wouldn't have worked out anyway.

Would it?

I tell myself no. It wouldn't. And this is for the best.

I mentally prepare myself and, when he pulls over near a secluded, woodsy area, I take a deep, bracing breath. I can handle this, can't I? He instructs me to climb out, and I do. He transforms, crouching in front of me. Seeing _this_ face just makes it that much harder. His blue eyes bore into me, roving my body again, and there is something, an intense sadness on his face, that makes me want to cry.

"We need to talk," he finally says, and I let out a heavy breath.

"About what?" I ask softly. He drops one knee to the ground and leans sown, running a finger tenderly under my chin.

"You know you can tell me anything," he says. "Don't you?"

I'm confused. There's no way he _knows_. I nod, grabbing onto his finger. "I know."

He sighs heavily. "I'm having trouble believing you," he says.

"Why?" I ask dryly, saying exactly what I'm feeling, tinged with sarcasm. "Because I've lied to you before, so you can't trust me now?" God, I'm so paranoid.

"I do trust you," he tells me patiently. "I already told you that."

"Okay, then what's all this about?"

"You're hiding something," he says matter-of-factly. I sigh, shaking my head.

"I'm really not."

"Stop _lying_ to me," he says, and his voice is suddenly slightly louder, sharper. I flinch, still wary of loud noises. Immediately, his stance softens. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I breathe. I want to tell him. God knows I want to. But every instinct I'd developed since living with the Decepticons tells me to keep silent. What if he turns on me? Leaves? Besides, I _can't_ tell him. Laserbeak could be _anywhere_—my blood runs cold, my heart stops. What is he _saying_? He's going to get himself killed!

"Parker," he says, and my eyes fly wide. _Shut up, shut up, shut up!_ "I don't know _why_ you're lying, but I know that you are—"

My hands shoot up in a _Stop!_ motion, my eyes huge, mouth open. His words halt. I glance around, trying to keep my cool, but he can't discuss this so openly.

"Optimus," I tell him very seriously. "Hush."

"Parker—"

"Shh," I hiss.

"Parker, I _know_."

My heart stops again. I swear, I'm going to have a heart attack. A fine trembling takes over my body.

"_What_ did you say?"

"I _know_."

A gasping sob claws its way out of my throat before I can stop it—just one short, desperate sound. If Laserbeak is here, if he's hearing this, we're done for.

"Please," I whisper, my voice uneven. "Please don't say that. You don't know what you're saying." I need to stop Optimus before he makes a huge mistake. If he really does know, and Laserbeak finds out, he's dead. If he doesn't know, but Laserbeak _thinks_ he knows, he's still dead. And so is everyone I love.

"I—"

"Optimus, _please_," I whisper. "Please just trust me."

"I can help you," he urges, and I flap my hands desperately.

"_Shut up!_" I hiss, biting my lip. I look around, knowing I'm stuck. How do I play this off? I'm trapped. Optimus knows, somehow, but I have to lie. But there's _no way_ I can lie, not when I'm acting like this. A look of understanding crosses his features suddenly and he looks at me for a long moment. I must look like a wreck. He draws me in very close to his face, our eyes locked, before he presses his forehead to mine, very firmly.

"Please," he rumbles, "whatever you've gotten into; let me help you."

I'm cuddling him, kissing his forehead desperately. "Please just stop."

"I will not," he says very lowly.

"_Optimus,"_ I breathe, pressing my body to him. "Please, _please_ stop." More firmly, his hand cups around my body and presses me close. I stifle a sob against his forehead, feeling all the stress, all the terror come bubbling up. I want so badly to tell him—hell, I practically have confessed already. But I can't make myself say the words. "I'm not going to let them hurt you," I choke against him.

"Tell me what is happening to you," he says, and he almost sounds like he's begging. "_Please_. I want to help you, but I can't, not if you don't tell me what's going on."

"I can't," I almost moan, relishing this closeness. "Please drop it."

He pulls away from me, transforming suddenly. The door pops open and the holoform is sitting there. The look on his human face breaks my heart, and I start to cry softly, shaking my head. He climbs out and grabs my hand, pulling me very, very gently into his body, pressing the lengths of our bodies together, holding me close, protectively. With one arm still locked around my body, he places the other on the back of my head, urging me closer. He kisses the top of my head, squeezing me.

"Parker," he says, "I can't stand to see you like this."

"I'm so sorry," I whisper in a broken voice as his lips brush over the ridge of my ear. He _knows_. Somehow, he knows. I don't know what he knows, I don't know how, but just knowing that he _does_ makes me feel so incredibly relieved. I clutch him close and he draws me gently into the backseat of the truck, where we sit and he just holds me, and I just hold him.

"You're trembling," he rumbles after a few moments. "Don't be scared. I'll protect you."

"You can't," I whisper. I'm too afraid to say the words, too scared to _really_ confirm what he seems to already know.

"I will," he urges. "Parker, _please_, just tell me. You can tell me anything; I can _help_ you."

I clutch him a little closer, but I don't speak a word. He squeezes me, tries to get me to talk, but I can't. I'm too scared; Laserbeak's threats bounce around my head, chilling me, making me hold him that much closer until I'm sitting in his lap, my arms and legs wrapped around him, just taking comfort in his embrace, in his presence, in the feel of his human body against mine.

There is no safer feeling, I realize, than _this_; being in his arms, being entirely _surrounded_ by the truck form of him. And still, I can't manage to make myself speak.

"What are you hiding," he urges.

"Please don't," I tell him. "I'm keeping you safe—"

"At what cost," he demands, pulling me closer. "You cannot sell your soul to them for _me_. I can handle myself."

"Clearly," I snort.

"What—"

"You forgot to tell me that Megatron actually _killed_ you once," I say bluntly, annoyance I don't really feel lacing my voice. "So, obviously, you're not as good at taking care of yourself as you seem to think."

He growls lowly, but doesn't rebuke me. I just shake my head against his neck.

"Are they hurting you?" He asks softly.

"No."

"What are they holding over you?"

"Nothing."

"Parker, _please_—"

In order to shut him up, I kiss him. It's a desperate, sloppy kiss, but I clutch at the back of his head, open his mouth with my tongue, and kiss him hard. He gasps and then groans into it, and his response shocks me. I had expected him to push me away, to focus on the subject, but he doesn't; he kisses me back with just as much intensity.

"Please," he whispers against my lips. "Trust me."

I capture his lips with mine again in response, growling at him to "shut up." His hand reaches around behind his back and runs against my ankle, surprising me when he runs it up my leg slowly, heatedly. I draw his head closer to mine, pressing more tightly to him, glad that this distraction is working.

His hand hits my calf, though, his fingers brushing the wounds, and I jerk it away. He makes a startled sound, but I grab his hand and put it back where it had been, urging him on by tightening my legs around him. I gasp softly when his hand reaches my thigh and doesn't stop.

And then the worst thing happens—he grasps my hips as I'm seated in his lap, grabs them and pulls me close. I jerk my mouth away from his with a pained cry, my breath gone, tears pricking my eyes at the pain.

Before I know it, before I know how, I'm flat on my back on the seat, and he's above me. He shoves my sweatshirt up around my ribs with one hand, pinning my shoulder. With his other, he loops his fingers into the waistband of my tights and _yanks _them down. I gasp, lifting my hips slightly so they're easier to remove. His face is intense, focused, and I realize he's staring at my hips. I'd been played. He'd known. Still, I'm secretly glad I'd decided to wear pretty panties today.

A look of disgust crosses his features, and I know why. "I knew it." Desperate, I try to play it off.

"Wow," I say because of the disgusted look. "That bad? Maybe I should start working out."

He doesn't respond. His fingers reach out slowly, one arm still pinning me down. He reaches for the band aids and peels them off, a terrifying look crossing his face when he sees the wounds. I'm still breathless from the pain, the makeout session (albeit brief), and from his sudden maneuver.

My chest heaves for breath against his arm as he stares down at me.

"I knew it," he rumbles. "No more games. Who _did_ this to you?" He notices my trembling. "Don't be afraid."

"I'm not shaking cause I'm scared," I say breathily, still trying to play all of this off, even though it's impossible. "I'm shaking because—I'm not gonna lie—that was _so_ sexy."

"Parker," he says, and his voice comes out somewhere between a moan and a command. With the same irresistible strength, he grabs the back of my neck and whips me back up, one hand still on my hip, tenderly touching the wounds, the other cupping my face. He touches them so gently that it doesn't even hurt. "Please. Let me in."

"Optimus," I whisper, all playful, cocky facades dropping away. My eyes dart to the windows, making sure we're not being watched—at least not from where I can see. My eyes return to his and they lock. He gently leans in and, for the first time, _he_ kisses _me_, very softly on the mouth.

That one soft gesture, that tiny little kiss breaks down what little walls I have left. Because I _want_ to tell him.

"Who did this to you?" His fingers trace my hip so agonizingly gently. His other hand wipes at my tears, and I turn my face away. Still so very gently, he turns my face back to his. "What are you afraid of?"

"Don't be mad," I beg, the terror churning just under the surface. I grip his face with both of my hands. "Please don't be mad." He strokes my hair, nodding gently. I swallow thickly, glancing at the windows again. "What do you know?"

"I know you've been lying to me," he starts.

"How long have you known?"

"Since that night when you asked me if I trusted you," he says softly. "You were going to tell me then, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"I noticed you were in pain," he touches my hip again tenderly, indicating where he'd hurt me last time. I nod. "And I knew you were hiding something, but I didn't press you. I wasn't sure what it was."

"What do you think, now?"

"I believe they've got a hold on you, again," he says. "The Decepticons." At the name I shudder, nodding ashamedly. It feels so good to tell him, to confess, to not be alone anymore. But I'm still so scared. "I don't know who, or why, or what they're holding over you. But I know you're scared; that much is obvious."

"Hush," I whisper urgently. "Speak quieter; he'll hear us."

"Who, Parker? Who will hear us?"

I shake my head mutely. "I can't," I choke. "You don't understand—if I tell you, he'll kill you. And he'll kill Ronnie and Mudflap and Skids and Lennox and—"

"Shh," he says gently, slipping a finger over my mouth. I glance up into his eyes, and they're endlessly gentle, understanding. "Parker, they won't hurt us. Do you understand? I can't help you if you don't let me in."

"I can handle it myself," I murmur. "I can. I've been handling it."

"And just look at you," he says, his voice quietly affectionate, but disgusted. He cups my face and stares intently into my eyes. "Tell me. You can trust me. No one will hurt you or anyone else. You are safe here, do you understand me? You are with me, and you are safe."

"It's not me I'm worried about." My heart is pounding, and he notices. He slips a hand over it, a soothing gesture, and he just waits patiently. His other hand is still at my hips, tracing the skin gently.

"Don't be mad," I tell him again.

"I won't be mad."

I take a deep breath. "Start from the beginning," he tells me. And I do. I tell him everything, every tiny little detail—fighting Laserbeak, shooting out his eye, his promise for revenge. I tell him about the threats, the abuse, and it's hard, and I'm terrified, but I go on. I'm crying softly, not hysterically, thank God, but I'm still embarrassed, still so ashamed.

"He knows about us," I gasp as Optimus drags a thumb beneath one of my eyes. "Optimus, he knows about _us_. I'm so scared—I've been _so scared_—I didn't even know how to—I couldn't tell you. I was trying to protect you—"

"I understand," he says, cutting me off. "He knows about us…"

"But he promised not to tell," I choke. "I made a deal with him."

"What was the deal, Parker?" His voice is wary.

"If he doesn't tell Megatron about us, I won't make it hard for him to keep me alive."

"Keep you alive?"

"I'm not in any danger," I tell him. "Not at all. He can _hurt_ me, but he can't _kill me_. Megatron needs me for something, and I don't know what. But Laserbeak and the Impala—they have to keep me alive."

"And what happens if Laserbeak breaks his end of the deal?"

I can't make myself answer, and he understands. "_Parker_," he groans, pulling me against him, which only makes me cry a little harder. But I can't stop now.

"They're going to take me," I whisper into his shoulder. "I don't know when, and I don't know how, but they will. Optimus, I don't want them to hurt you."

He's quiet as I finish my story, telling him about the bridge, summing up by telling him how I'm never alone, and how I'm so scared even right now, with him, inside him. He doesn't answer. I clutch at the fabric of his shirt briefly before pushing him away.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He's not exactly asking; I'd told him why, or at least part of the reason. I hadn't told him this:

"I didn't want to lose you again," I say, my voice tiny, faint. "I thought that if I could keep it all to myself, handle it myself—I didn't want you to think I was working for them. I didn't want you to not trust me, or—"

"You didn't want me to abandon you again," he says slowly.

"I was afraid you'd turn your back on me," I say softly, nodding, and he finally looks angry, shaking his head. "I'm sorry," I say again, the same thing I'd been saying through the story. "I—you can be mad, if you want."

"I'm not mad at _you_," he says. "But I am angry."

"I'm sor—"

"Stop apologizing." I nod, wiping at my eyes, shaking uncontrollably. I want to be in his arms again; I feel so safe there. "Are you too angry to hold me?" I ask timidly, unable to meet his eyes. He reaches for me then, draws me against him so that I'm sitting in his lap like I had been before.

"I will never be too angry to hold you," he says. "No matter what you do. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," I whisper, clutching my arms around him. As the feeling of safeness, of wholeness envelopes me, I truly fall apart. It feels so _good_ to tell him, to have him on my side, to know that he won't turn against me. I feel so ashamed—ashamed of what I'd done, ashamed to have ever doubted him. I'm finally able to release the tension, the mounting terror, the stress and the worry. It feels so good to share it with someone else, so good that I can't help but cry harder.

"It's okay," he rumbles against my neck. "Let it out."

And I do. I really do. I apologize some more, I express my fear, I thank him. And when I've calmed down I sit back in his lap and run my hands up his shoulders, to his neck, and over the planes of his face. I trace his lips, and his eyes remain focused intently on my face the whole time.

"So what now," I ask softly, calming my breathing, wiping at my eyes with one hand as my other continues to roam his face and neck.

"Now we will solve this," he tells me. I shake my head.

"He can't know," I tell him. "_Please_ Optimus. I can handle this, especially now that I've told you. But please don't give him a reason to hurt you."

"Parker, I can't just—"

"Remember the day I told you about when he was in the tree behind you, and he wanted to—to shoot you?"

"Yes."

"I can't handle that," I tell him seriously. "I've never been so scared. I can't handle him threatening you. He can threaten _me_, but the instant he threatens _you_—I just can't. Please don't give him a reason to hurt you."

"We'll figure this out," he reassures me, pressing his forehead to mine. I bring our bodies closer, kissing his nose.

"Thank you," I tell him. "Really."

"You can't take on the entire Decepticon army by yourself," he warns me. "I appreciate what you did—make no mistake. You are strong, Parker, so strong, and I _adore_ that you are capable. But please—no more of this."

"I promise," I tell him. We spend a few minutes quietly discussing what should be done, and no decision is made. While he wants to take me away to base, we both know it isn't logical, that it's a dead giveaway.

"I'm sorry," I mutter after a while. "God. I hate being needy like this."

"There is a difference between being _needy_ and simply needing someone," he tells me gently, kissing my forehead.

"Are you sure you're not mad?" I ask softly, sitting back slightly to get a better look at his face. He definitely looks angry.

"Initially, I was furious, disappointed—I still am, to be honest," he says, and I duck my head slightly. "But I'm only angry that you didn't come to me sooner, that it had to get this far before you felt that you could tell me—and even so, I had to force it out of you."

"Sorry," I mumble. "I know I should have told you—and I _wanted_ to. But Laserbeak—he scares me more than anything or anyone else ever has."

"Even more than Barricade?"

"In a way," I say. "At least Barricade I can see coming, and I can fight back. Laserbeak… there's just something _about_ him—" I shudder just thinking about it. "I'm still scared."

"Don't be," he says, stroking my hair.

"Do you think he knows?"

"I sincerely hope not."

Optimus had explained how he and other Cybertronians could essentially cloak their signatures, making them virtually invisible. That's what Laserbeak and the still nameless Impala had been doing. He could be anywhere right now.

"I just feel like I've put you in danger. And _don't_ tell me you can handle things yourself, because I know better." He sighs, rubbing my arms, smiling softly at the stern look I'm giving him. I feel more like _me_ now than I have in a while.

"Everything is going to be alright," he reassures me gently, and for that moment, I allow myself to believe him. He's Optimus Prime. Of course he's right.

Finally, my tears have subsided and my breathing is steady. I'm calm. I can tell he's still angry, and now that I've stopped crying, he doesn't have to hide it and try to comfort me. It's _obvious_ that he's angry, just by the look on his face, the tension in his body. But he can be as angry as he wants; he has a right to. Now, at least, I know he's not going to turn on me.

"Do you still trust me?" I ask his profile softly. He blinks and turns to face me.

"Yes."

I lean in quickly and steal a kiss, giving him my best, sweetest, most playful smile. I feel like the weight of the world has been lifted off my shoulders. I can fix this with Optimus, this time.

"Are you still mad?" I ask as he glares at me.

"Yes."

I lean forward so that I'm on my hands and knees on the seat, leaning close to him. He stares straight ahead, refusing to look at me. I smile to myself before I lean in and dust my lips over the ridge of his ear. He flinches away and gives me a withering glare.

"How 'bout now?"

"Yes."

I crawl forward and he scoots away, reminding me of a little kid scooting away from someone they don't like. He glares. This continues until he's backed up against the wall of the truck, trapped. I grin and lean over him, leaning in to kiss his temple, pinning his shoulders against the wall.

"And now?"

"Yes." His tone doesn't change, and I pull back, running a hand through his hair. The serious, angry mask doesn't crack until my fingers trail over the hair at the nape of his neck. I tickle the skin with my nails and he squirms.

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"_That,"_ he grunts as I play with the hair.

"Hmm," I say, leaning back thoughtfully. He glares again, his eyes scorching.

"Try all you want," he tells me stiffly. "But I am far too furious to be attracted to you right now."

"That almost offended me," I tell him, shooting him a glare of my own. "I thought you said you weren't mad."

"Of _course_ I'm mad."

"So you lied."

"Sometimes I have to do what needs to be done in order to—_ah _—get the information I—_mmh—_desire—_would you stop that?"_

"You're such an ass," I growl as he pushes my hands away. They'd been trailing playfully through his hair, down over his chest. He folds his arms crossly over his chest. "Why should I stop?"

"It's very distracting," he snaps.

"_Fine_," I snap back, pushing away from him and folding my arms over _my_ chest, backing up as far away as I can.

"Fine."

"Go away," I tell him, suddenly deeply offended. The girlish part of my brain is actually shockingly hurt; any girl would, in my position, having had my advances shunned like that. Of course I'm not going to _show_ him that I'm hurt. He deserves to be mad, anyway. "Take me home."

"_Fine_," he growls in annoyance, shooting me a withering glare again before the holoform sparks and vanishes. I lean against the door, both of us in a state of irritation.

"Oh, by the way," I scoff, "thank you for being there. Thanks for standing by me."

"Always," he retorts, and I have to fight back a smile.

**NOTE: So, like OP said, he WAS mad, but he also needed to know what she knew. So he sort of played her in a way, especially when he started kissing her. But he still adores her, of course. So, the more reviews I get, the next chapter will be up faster! And just to motivate you… it has a lot of fluff and bickering and making up. :D**


	42. Chapter 42

**NOTE: I love the secret, silent little battle that wages between them in the beginning of this. I LOVE making them bicker! A cute, funny, fluffy chapter—much needed, I think, after all the tension. We return to business in the next chapter!**

**Review! :)**

Chapter 42

It's dark when we pull back into my driveway. Ronnie, I notice, has finished cleaning Skids, and I have to fight back a smile wondering how _that_ went, considering he's fairly ticklish and doesn't know her. Ronnie is waiting up for us, and when I climb out she comes to meet me, forcing Optimus to activate his holoform again. I climb down, my shoes slapping against the wet pavement. Ronnie's eyes immediately fall to my unclothed legs.

"This isn't what it looks like."

"This is the second time I've caught you without pants on," she says slowly, trying to fight the smile edging her lips up. She seems much more relaxed now, though admittedly still slightly tense around Optimus. She gives him a nod, which he returns. The wet pavement and the hose gives me an idea. I shoot Optimus a subtle glare, which he notices and matches with one of his own.

He wants to be that way? _Fine._

"Ronnie," I say, "is the carwash stuff still out?"

"Yeah," she says, "why?"

"This truck is _filthy_."

Optimus's head snaps to look at me, giving me a deadly _don't you dare_ look. I ignore him.

"You're going to wash that _monstrosity?"_ Ronnie asks in disbelief. Optimus turns to give her an offended look now.

"Monstrosity," he growls to himself, folding his arms.

"Yeah," I tell her, ignoring him. "I used to have to wash it all the time."

"Don't ask for my help," she says, shrugging. "I already washed the green one."

"Thanks," I tell her, leaving to grab the supplies. She and Optimus stand awkwardly next to each other. I can feel his eyes on me as I gather the soap, bucket, towels, and the hose. When I meet his eyes, I almost burst out laughing. His eyes say _If you do this, I will end you_. I just smirk: _We'll see about that._

"You don't need to wash me—it," he says, snagging the sponge from my hands. I snatch it back.

"I _do_," I tell him. "I owe you one, remember? For today. You were just so _nice_."

He steals it back. "Really. It's fine."

I grab the sponge. "Really. It looks like it needs it. It's so dirty."

"I don't think it's _that_ dirty."

"Are you kidding? It's disgusting."

"It is _not_ disgusting!"

"I think it is. Now. Shut up and give me the sponge."

"No. I'm—the truck—it's _fine_."

"You can hardly see the paintwork," I reason, lunging for the sponge. He moves it away quickly. "Okay, fine. Be that way."

Ronnie's head is snapping between us like she's watching a tennis match. Her smiling lips are parted slightly, looking incredibly amused. I walk away and grab the hose, turning it on full blast. It's not much compared to the base hoses, but it'll work. I run my hand through the stream.

"It's _cold_." I smirk at him. His eyes narrow to slits.

"Do not. Touch. The truck."

Knowing he'll be able to feel every touch I give the truck, I smile slyly. Ronnie looks confused, but too amused to leave us. This will be _perfect_. I'm going to torture him—he can't react to any of this. I blast the grill with the icy water, and the holoform flinches with a gasp.

"Oops."

"Parker," he growls in warning, and I drench the whole front of the truck. He flinches again, gritting his teeth. The look he's giving me is so furious that I want to laugh. I watch in amusement as he forces himself to hold still as I wet down the entire truck.

"Relax," I tell him, approaching him, hose in hand. I hold out my hand for the sponge. We have a silent stare down, me smirking, him rigid against the cold water sliding over his truck form. I raise my eyebrows, and he slaps the sponge into my open hand. Challenge accepted, then. This will be a silent battle of wills. I know he can shut off sensation in the truck whenever he wants, but I also know that he won't let me win like that.

Whistling innocently, I slap some soap on the sponge and onto the truck too and take to scrubbing it down slowly and gently. Every so often I steal a glance at him, and every time he meets my eyes, his face perfectly composed.

"Alright," Ronnie says. "You guys are freaks. I'm going inside."

Optimus smirks. "No," I say quickly. "Ronnie—why don't you stay here? The three of us can hang out and get to know each other better."

"Uh… _sure_. Okay."

I bite my bottom lip to keep from laughing; Optimus looks like he's going to blow a fuse. We talk about the military and about my time on base. We talk about how Optimus and I met, and about a bunch of other, small-talky things. Optimus, I notice, avoids eye contact; his eyes glow, I remember, and that would set her off immediately.

But he's handling this too well. So I decide to up the ante. I crouch down by the tires and apply firmer touches, more lingering, more ticklish. Success: Optimus visibly squirms. Ronnie stops talking for a moment, giving him an odd look. He clears his throat. I smile and scrub the rims, the metal above the tires, the lower doors, my touches all firm. He twitches, his jaw clenching.

"While you're down there," he says to me; I'm on my knees scrubbing the tires gently, making him squirm. His eyes are alight. "There's some mud and branches trapped in the undercarriage. I can't fit under the truck. Do you think you can reach them?"

Now it's my turn to narrow my eyes. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you." His smile is tense.

"Don't mention it."

I crawl under the truck with the hose, squirting down the underside, the backs of the tires. At one point I concentrate the hose and hit him hard; he gasps. But, a moment later, the truck shudders minutely. I scream as a bunch of mud and dust splats on my face, neck, and chest.

"_Optimus!" _Ishriek furiously, crawling desperately out from under the truck.

"Is something wrong?" He asks innocently, his eyes widening in mock-concern when he sees me covered in filth. "How unfortunate."

I wipe the mud off of my face. Ronnie gapes at me and then bursts out laughing. I glare at Optimus. "You're in for it, now."

I abandon the underside of the truck. If the branches make him uncomfortable, tough. I wash off the outside and dry it, making the holoform grit his teeth a few times. I'm on my hands and knees on the hood when I "_slip,_" driving my elbow into the gap between his windshield and the hood. He grunts. I stand on top of him and brace myself against the windshield as I dry the roof.

"If you scratch my paint," he tells me, "I will end you." I know he's joking, that he won't _really_ end me, and the threat makes me smile. I don't scratch the paint, though.

When he's finally dry I climb down. He thinks he's out of the woods, but I'm not done yet. I run and grab the outdoor vacuum and the little tiny broom-brush. I have to be quick before he locks the doors and doesn't let me in, and I'm successful. I climb in before he can stop me, mini vacuum and brush in hand.

"What are you doing?" He demands. Ronnie gives us another weird look.

"Cleaning the inside. It's gross."

"It is not gross," he says. "Get out of there."

Only _now_ does he truly look worried. This is where he's most sensitive. I rake my nails over his seat and he gives a soft gasp before glaring at me. I close the door on him and take to sweeping out the dirt and vacuuming the harder to reach places. When I'm done, I decide to torture him a little, again raking my nails over the seats. I laugh as the holoform squirms. Poor Ronnie looks freaked out as he tries to control himself.

"You are not going to win this." I jump and yelp as the radio crackles to life.

"How are you doing that?"

"It is difficult," he grunts, "but I can focus my attention on both forms."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"Yes."

"Will you please stop being a jerk?"

"…no."

"Fine."

"You are going to pay for this," he warns me.

"I look forward to it."

I run my nails over the dashboard. The radio hitches. "Fine," he growls, and then goes silent. I only do it for a few minutes. When my hands find the wires underneath the wheel, I know I've won. The holoform goes rigid, glares. His hands are balled into fists, his jaw set. Ronnie look sympathetic now, and I wonder what lie he fed her. I know the instant he caves and shuts off the feeling in the truck. His body relaxes, an easy smile graces his face, and he just looks completely relaxed. I grin triumphantly, removing my hands and making to climb out of the truck.

But then a strange sound comes from the air vents. Stupidly, I glance at them curiously—and I'm shot in the face with a nasty green fluid.

"Gah!" I cry, wiping is desperately away. "Disgusting! What is this—is this—_antifreeze?_"

The truck just chuckles around me as I stagger out. The holoform gives me as concerned, knowing look.

"What happened?"

I just glare at him. "Your stupid truck is clean now," I growl. "I am going inside! Come on, Ronnie."

I grab her arm and tow her after me, leaving Optimus behind. She just laughs. "You two are so weird," she snorts.

"Shut up."

Once we make it inside I lock the doors; against Laserbeak, not Optimus. I run up and take a nice hot shower, cleaning the mud and antifreeze away, grumbling to myself. When I'm done, I head to my room for my clothes—an old habit I'd had since I'd been a kid. I never, ever bring my clothes with me into the bathroom, mostly because I can't stand to get dressed in the muggy atmosphere left over from the hot shower.

I'm so wrapped up in my own mind that I almost don't notice him standing there. When I do, I jump back with a startled gasp, my back hitting the nearest wall, clutching my towel.

"I—what—_Optimus Prime!_"

"I didn't mean to scare you."

"What are you doing in here?"

"You left me outside." He sounds mildly hurt.

"How did you get in?"

"Ronnie let me in. She doesn't trust me; she had to call Savannah to ease her worries. I told her I would be staying overnight."

"You're staying over?"

"Of course. I can't bring you to base with me, and I can't stand to leave you here alone."

"But Skids—"

"Has been informed of the situation," he says. "But I feel more comfortable being _here_. Also, he's upset that you kept this from him. He believes you doubt his abilities as a guardian."

I groan, leaning my head back against the wall. When I look at Optimus, I notice that his glowing blue eyes are tracing up and down my body almost shyly before he meets my eyes again, looking like a child caught with his hand in a cookie jar. He starts slightly and clears his throat awkwardly.

"Still too mad to be attracted to me?"

"Yes."

I roll my eyes and grab my clothes, heading to the bathroom to change into a pair of short shorts and a tank top. I lotion up with something that smells soft and sweet before I return to him. He's leaning against a wall, arms folded, watching me as I sit on my bed. We stare each other down again for a few moments, neither of us speaking. Finally I lay back and stretch out on the bed.

"You just going to stand there all night?"

"Yes."

"You could come sit over here with me."

"I'd rather not."

I sigh, sitting up and bracing my arms behind me. "I don't like it when you're mad at me."

"I don't like it when you lie to me," he retorts.

"Touché." Speaking of lying, I'm reminded again of Laserbeak. I glance at the window and stand, brushing past Optimus to get to it before I close it firmly and lock it. I should draw the shutters, but I leave them open; I don't want Laserbeak to think I'm hiding anything. If I'm lucky, he'll think Optimus and I are just sharing a tender night together—that is, if I can make him stop being angry with me.

I lean against a bead post and we shoot each other angry glares before I finally just close my eyes. I flop back on my bed and drape one arm over my eyes with a groan.

"I'm sorry," I finally say, swallowing my pride. But now, with night having fallen, with Laserbeak probably lurking outside, I can't stand to have him so distant. I just want to hold him, to be close to him, to feel _safe—_and, at the same time, to feel like I'm protecting him. Having him there, leaning so close to the window… he looks incredibly vulnerable to attack. "I don't like fighting."

"Nor do I," he confesses with a soft sigh.

"Could you please get away from the window?" I peak out at him, watching as he glances at the window. He obeys, moving away from it, looking awkward. "Thanks."

"Is that where he comes in?"

"Every night," I confirm. "I don't like seeing you close to it, that's all."

He glances around the room as though looking for a place to stand. He's close enough to me that, from my position on my back, I can reach out and grab his hand. I do, gently, and pull him close. He comes and sits beside me, his eyes trained on my face. Because I don't want to touch him for too long or seem like I'm trying to make light of the situation, I release his hand quickly and stare quietly at the ceiling. A few moments pass in silence.

And then he rests his palm on my forehead, turning and resting his legs on the bed. He trails his fingers over my face and when I look up at him, his face is no longer angry. Tense, yes, but not angry.

"What are you doing?"

"You worry me," he tells me gently, his voice quiet. "More than anyone else, _you_ scare me."

"I—"

"I don't understand it," he rumbles over me. "But you… you have this hold on me; it's unexplainable, but it is there." His fingers whisper over my face, my neck, my collarbone. I sigh, closing my eyes at the gentle touches.

"I know what you mean," I breathe. We're quiet for a while, and I'm not sure if we're still mad. But he continues to touch me, almost absently.

"Are you sleeping?" He asks me after a while. I'd kept my eyes closed, and my breathing had grown deeper, more even.

"No," I murmur into the quiet.

"Oh." He hesitates. "Keep your eyes closed."

"Okay."

I feel him shift around on the bed, feel his weight on either side of me. I don't open my eyes, though. I feel his breath on my lips and part my own, but they never meet. I swallow thickly as I feel him press a damp kiss to my forehead.

"Eyes closed," he warns me as I stir. I sigh. His lips brush over my neck and I angle my head just right, giving him better access, smiling. I move my hands up his arms, which are braced on either side of my head, but he snatches my hands in his and pins them above my head using only one of his hands. I strain gently against him and hear him chuckle as he holds me firm.

"What are you doing?" I breathe as he kisses my shoulder.

"Revenge," he growls. His voice makes my heart pound.

"Revenge for what?"

"For what you did to me earlier," he says, and I know he's talking about my torture with the truck. I smile.

"Oh, so now you're feeling playful?"

"Not playful; vengeful. Now hush."

I smile, keeping my eyes closed obediently, certain that I won't cave as he had. But my certainty begins to waver as he kisses my neck slowly, then kisses the sensitive place just below my ear. I wriggle against him with a soft gasp as he sucks lightly at the spot before moving to my mouth and trailing his lips feather-lightly over mine. I press up to meet his lips, but he draws away.

He slides his free hand up my leg, his touch still so soft. I moan very softly, straining for his lips, for the sensation of his mouth on mine. I arch my back, pressing my body gently to his before resting back on the bed. He chuckles softly, lifting his hand and cupping my face as he kisses my throat. Then his hand slips beneath my shirt, trailing over my sensitive skin, avoiding my hips. His fingers brush over my naval and I wriggle with a soft gasp.

"_Optimus,"_ I gasp his name as he kisses the edge of my mouth, then sucks softly at my upper lip, always drawing away before I can kiss him back. I groan and he presses his palm into the small of my back, bowing my body against his. I lift one leg and curl it around his hips, tugging him against me, opening my eyes now.

"Where did you learn his?" I practically whimper against him, drawing his hips closer to mine. He's careful not to put too much weight on them, afraid of hurting me.

"I know what feels good when you kiss _me_," he explains, his voice very deep.

"Mmh," I mumble, leaning up to kiss his jaw. "I didn't know you had this in you."

"You'd be surprised. Now stop talking—unless you're going to apologize."

"For _what_?"

"For tormenting _me._"

"Not a chance."

"So be it."

I gasp as he kisses just beside my mouth again, touching his tongue to the corner of my lips. He presses his body more firmly to mine, leaning in ever closer. After a few moments I'm squirming, just wanting to _beg_ him to kiss me. "Optimus," I moan, straining toward his mouth again.

"Hmm?" He asks, kissing along my ear. He's only getting better the longer this goes on, seeming to take note of what makes me writhe the most and repeating those actions. It's maddening, but in a very good way. He continuously just hovers his mouth above mine, exhibiting far more self control than I am as I edge up, our lips only just brushing before he pulls away with a chuckle.

"Kiss me already," I plead, trying and failing to make it sound like an order rather than a breathy request.

"Not yet," he rumbles, his voice making my spine tingle.

"You're a jerk," I say breathily, my voice a hoarse whisper. This just makes him chuckle again. I struggle against him, struggle to free my hands, giving up with a pitiful whine and laugh when I can't budge. I can only control my legs, but I've already brought him as close to me as possible. I curl my legs around him and try to roll us over, but no dice.

"Not a chance," he says in amusement, kissing the spot between my eyes. I hold his burning blue gaze for a moment; his eyes are darkly intense, glittering with mirth at my predicament. "It's less fun from this side, isn't it?" He asks pointedly.

"Yes," I mumble, "but it's still pretty fun."

He dips his head into my throat again, and finally I can't take it anymore. For what seems like too many times tonight, I swallow my pride, hook my leg around his hips and draw him close. "I'm sorry," I whisper, "for torturing you like this in front of Ronnie. That wasn't very nice."

"Mmm," he says. I sigh, and this time, when his mouth drifts closer to mine, he releases my wrists. I immediately lock my arms around his neck, my fingers sliding into his hair, and I crush his mouth to mine. I feel him smile against my mouth as I growl, twisting my fingers into his short hair and drawing him closer. This time he lets me roll us over and I straddle him, my hands braced on his chest as I lean over him, kissing him. I put all my fear, all the tension I'd been feeling into that kiss. It's long and deep and passionate. It makes my head spin, makes my lips sore. I moan softly against him as he grips my legs, drawing me closer before he pushes against me, sliding his tongue into my mouth. I push against him in return, each of us struggling for dominance. In the end, though, I win out, somehow taking control of the kiss, making my head spin. It becomes desperate and almost sloppy as I try to kiss all of it away—the pain, the fear, the guilt. If I can make him feel good in this kiss, maybe I can be forgiven.

The kiss takes a turn for the gentle, though, after a few moments. The intensity fades, replaced by a tenderness, a softness. He cups the back of my head with one hand, the other carefully around my waist. I can feel his breath in my mouth as we breathe heavily.

"I'm—_mm_—so sorry—for everything—" I say in between the kisses. "I'll never—do something like—that again."

"It's alright," he says heatedly.

"Please," I mumble, dragging my mouth to his jaw. I nudge my face against his, tilting his head back to give me better access. "Don't be mad anymore. I can't stand it when you're mad."

"I'm not mad."

"Do you mean it this time?"

"Yes," he sighs as I return my mouth almost desperately to his, missing the closeness. I drag my tongue over his lower lip, prying his mouth open and kissing him deeply, my hands roving until I have him squirming beneath me.

"Thank you," I whisper, clutching his shirt. I pull out of the kiss and rest my forehead against his. As always, his body stiffens slightly before it relaxes. Still straddling him, I'm hunched over him, trailing my hands over his sensitive face. I can't stop apologizing as I cuddle my forehead to his.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, a tremble taking over my face and body. "I'm so sorry. I was so scared. You mean so much to me," I tell him, kissing his forehead, "I don't know what I'd do if you turned on me again."

"Never," he rumbles. He sits up suddenly, holding my forehead against his. "I will never give up on you. Believe that."

"I do," I whisper, closing my eyes and kissing his mouth softly before snuggling his forehead again. He groans softly. "Thank you."

In response, he wraps his arms around my body and pulls me close, sliding his mouth over mine one more time before we just sit together, holding each other, our foreheads touching. After a few moments he lays us down so that we're on our sides facing each other, foreheads still pressed together. I'm content to just sit like this for the rest of the night, but I want to see him—the _real him_.

"Ronnie's asleep, I think," I whisper, my lips brushing his skin. "Can we go outside? I want to be with you."

"What about Laserbeak? The Impala?"

"They must already know you're here by now," I whisper faintly. "As long as we don't give them reason to believe that I've told you… you'll be fine."

"I'm worried about _you_."

"Don't be. I'm safe." Safe now, safe in his arms, with him parked in my driveway. "Can we go?"

"Of course," he says, grunting as I roll over on top of him and bounce off. He laughs at my excitement, shaking his head. "I don't know how to make you understand that _this_ is also _me_—"

"Shut up," I growl. He's sitting on the edge of the bed and I lean in and press a hard kiss to his lips, bracing my hands beside his hips. I kiss him so hard and press so close that, by the end of it, he's flat on his back with me leaning over him. Grinning to myself as I pull away, I look down at his face, which is slightly flustered. One more quick kiss, and I'm bounding downstairs and wrenching open the front door. Optimus is already waiting for me in his bipedal form. I rush past Skids, who laughs softly as I brush my hand against his window before I rush Optimus.

He chuckles and catches me with a hand, and I throw my arms around it.

"You're so strange," he tells me with an affectionate chuckle.

"Thanks," I drawl, kissing his fingers repeatedly. My heart is so full of something so—so raw, and full, and affectionate. I want to tell him, but I don't know how to put it into words. It makes me smile, makes my chest swell, makes me feel whole and safe and unafraid.

"Pick me up," I tell him, and he does, drawing me close to his face, where I rest my forehead against his. "Optimus Prime," I tell him slowly. "You are the very best thing that ever happened to me. I want you to know that."

"Parker—"

"Shh." I tell him, kissing his forehead affectionately. "I'm trying to tell you something."

He waits patiently as my hands drift over his face and I repeatedly Cybertronian-kiss him. Finally, I just decide to go for it and try and express myself. "Optimus," I say, "have you ever cared for someone so much that, when you see them, your heart just swells and it feels like you had no room for it in your chest? And it kind of takes your breath away and makes you sort of dizzy and leaves you with nothing to do but smile? I'm not saying you have to feel this way about _me_, but anyone, you know? I don't know. But that's—that's how I feel around you. Like I just… I care about you, and you mean _so much_ to me. I don't ever want to lose you."

He's watching me steadily. I sigh and take another embarrassed breath. "I don't know what I'm saying. But I do know I've never cared about someone or wanted someone as much as I want you. I'd do anything to keep you safe—"

"So I've seen," he chuckles tenderly, stroking my hair with a huge finger. I smile. "You're babbling."

"Nervous," I say, shrugging. "I don't know. All I know is that, right now, my heart is pounding. And I feel like I might pass out. I'm lightheaded and warm and when I'm with you, I feel safer than I have ever felt in my whole life. And I just—I want you to know that, I guess. I don't know if that even makes sense, but that's what I'm feeling. You're so important to me."

I smile up at him, feeling stupid and small and girlish and _young_. But he just smiles as I look away, unable to meet his eyes, embarrassed.

"I understand perfectly," he says gently, tilting my face up, his face entirely affectionate. "I never imagined myself feeling this way—caring so _deeply_ and wholly for a human. I would have never guessed that it would be _you_."

"Yeah, well," I shrug, my heart soaring, "I never imagined myself feeling this way for a giant talking alien truck, but, you know. It happens."

He chuckles. "You mean the world to me, Parker," he says. "Don't forget that."

"I won't," I smile, kissing his thumb. "Again, I'm sorry for everything that happened today." I glance around warily, warning him with my eyes not to discuss it. He nods in understanding, but there's tension in his body. I'd convinced him, earlier, to act oblivious—for both of our own goods. Pretend he knew nothing. Don't look for them. He had reluctantly agreed until he came up with a better option. So now, Laserbeak could be in my oak tree. I knew it had to be killing Optimus _not_ to look for him, but we had no choice. "And I'm sorry for being a bitch to you."

He smiles. "I shouldn't have acted so immaturely."

"It was funny," I laugh. "Besides, you're allowed to be immature once in a while."

And that's that. Apologies accepted. Now we can really move on.

After a while I start to get drowsy. He'd placed me on his shoulder, and I'm curled against his face. When he notices me starting to fall asleep, he plucks me up. "Come on," he says gently, "let's get you to your room."

"I want to stay with you," I argue.

"I'll activate the holoform. I won't leave you."

"No," I mumble fitfully. "I want to be with _you_."

He sighs, placing me gently on the ground before transforming. When he's finished I climb in the back and stretch out on his seat, cuddling against the leather. Laserbeak must be _fuming_, but I'll face his wrath in the morning. For now, I am safe.

"Goodnight, Optimus," I breathe.

"Goodnight." I jump; his voice is right behind me. I turn and face the holoform; he gives me a gentle smile.

"What's this?"

"A compromise," he says. I smile and lean against him, and we end up resting together, my back to his chest, his body curled around mine, my head resting on his arm, against his shoulder.

"I wish I could stay," he says, "or that you could come with me in the morning." His voice is so quiet that I have a hard time hearing him.

"Me, too," I whisper, rolling over so that we're face to face. His eyes are glowing brightly. "But we can't. There's too much at risk."

"I know," he murmurs. "But we'll figure this out. I can't stand the thought of him hurting you."

I shiver. "I'll be fine." Gently, he touches my hip, and I sigh. "I know," I say, "but I can handle it, okay? But I'm not letting them take you from me."

He kisses me gently. "This goes against every instinct I have—as a leader, as an Autobot… as a _man_. I should be with you constantly, protecting you."

I smile when he calls himself a man. I understand what he means, of course, but still. "You can't take care of everyone," I tell him. "And believe it or not, I can work with these guys. You and me… we have to work together to figure this out. Give and take."

He sighs, his breath whispering against my face. "This is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do."

"I'm so sorry."

He squeezes me closer to him. "I'll get you out of this, somehow. On my honor as an Autobot—I'll save you."

My throat closes up. "I know you will."


	43. Chapter 43

**NOTE: In this chapter, we learn some more about the Impala. Just FYI, he's an OC that I've created myself. If there's an actual transformer who shares his name, let me know, please! Also, I'm so sorry for the long wait! I really just don't have the time at the moment. I'm so sorry!**

**Also, time passes fairly quickly in this chapter; hours go by in a sentence, and says go by in a paragraph, sometimes. I hope you don't mind. Also, this chapter is meant to be a filler, in which we establish new plot points. **

**Anyways, I hope you enjoy this, and I would love reviews! Excuse the typos!  
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Chapter 43

"If she tries to escape, you know what to do."

I'm on my back, my elbows propped up beneath me, glaring.

"So what? This is it?" I demand, a snarl curling my lips. "This is your big plan?"

Laserbeak perches in the rafters above my head, glaring down at me, hissing. He shuffles his wings, the gesture menacing, but I don't back down. I match his glare. The Impala is standing in the entrance, his figure hulking and intimidating, red eyes watching me. He holds his arms, giving Laserbeak a nearly imperceptible nod. A chill skitters down my spine. Laserbeak notices and chuckles.

"This isn't permanent," he tells me. "Only for a few days; as long as it takes you to learn your lesson."

"My _lesson_," I echo with a glare.

"Perhaps _this_," he hisses, "will teach you not to pull another stunt like that."

I swallow. He's referring to my little "sleepover," as he'd called, it with Optimus. He hadn't had access to me that night, and though he'd had nothing important to tell me, he didn't appreciate my defiance. In the two days that had passed since, Optimus had agreed to take my guardians away, as Laserbeak had requested, so that I looked obedient. We were walking on eggshells, but we had to do whatever we could to make them think I was playing nice. So that meant no more Mudflap; no more Skids. No one. I was entirely alone at night, except for Ronnie and Boo, Laserbeak and the Impala, my new guardians.

Optimus is _not_ happy about any of this. He'd fought me the whole way, but I'd managed to convince him that I couldn't outright defy them. Not yet. We'd been expecting punishment for my sleepover, and I'd told him that they couldn't hurt me. I'd told him not worry, and it's driving him insane. The game I'm playing is going against _everything_ he stands for. But he's letting me play it.

He's trusting me.

And that had landed me here. Last night, they'd kidnapped me. Laserbeak had made me write a note to Ronnie, telling her I would be staying at base for a few days, eliminating the worry on her part and erasing suspicion. As long as Optimus didn't pay us a visit, they would have no idea I'd been kidnapped. Laserbeak had stolen me from my bedroom, given me over to the Impala, who had locked me up inside of himself and driven me away.

And now here I am. Somewhere hours away from home, on my back on the dirt floor of an old, rundown barn in the middle of nowhere.

"What are you going to do to me?" I ask softly. Laserbeak chuckles.

"Nothing," he growls. "And that's the beauty of it." He dives down from his perch, twisting and soaring, his wingtips skimming over my head before he lands on the Impala's shoulder. "Remember what I said," he croons. "You are under _my_ command. If she tries to escape, break her legs."

My heart stops. Well, there goes any plan I'd had of making a grand escape. I do not want my legs broken, and I definitely don't put it past the Impala to break them. I swallow thickly and stare up at the Impala as he nods, his red eye zeroing in on me, burning. Against my will, a shudder slides over my body. Laserbeak casts a glance at me and seems to smirk.

"I'll see you in a few days," he says before he lifts from the Impala's shoulder and glides away.

Now the Impala turns to face me entirely, his gaze stern. I get to my feet and back away until my back hits one of the old walls. He doesn't speak, and neither do I. He just stares at me, his one good eye unwavering. No matter where I go in the barn, I can't escape his gaze. My heart won't stop fluttering.

"So," I say after a while. "What's the plan?"

No response. He only blinks at me slowly. I clear my throat awkwardly, wrapping my arms around my body. I cough.

"Well," I say, "this is awkward."

Still no response. Hours pass, and I get nothing out of him. I'm going insane here, waiting for the hammer to drop, waiting for something horrible to happen to me. I feel like a trapped animal, trapped in a tiny box. The horrible thing is that there are a million ways to escape. I just don't want to try them and have my legs broken. So instead I sit, opting to wait it out. How long can they keep me here, I reason. It won't be that bad. He hasn't tried to hurt me.

Night falls, and I'm freezing. I stand up and look for something to use as a blanket, but there's nothing. The only light comes from the headlights on the Impala's chest. He's still standing there, some silent, stone-still sentinel. Just watching me, always watching me. I can't escape him.

When I figure out there's nothing to cover myself with, I decide to keep moving. It keeps my body warm at least. I can feel his one red eye watching me, and it makes me twitchy. I spin around to face him again, running my hands through my hair and hopping a little to keep warm. My breath whistles in and out of my lungs, the air sharp with the cold. My teeth chatter.

We stare each other down for a while. More time passes, and nothing changes. It's driving me insane. My stomach growls, and my mouth is dry from the hopping and jogging in place. I hadn't given that any thought. I glance around for water, but the barn is barren. I have nothing. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth and, after a few more hours, my throat feels like sandpaper when I swallow. But the sun is finally rising, yellow light splashing through the windows. I huddle up in one of the squares of light. My stomach grows loudly, but I ignore it.

Around midday, something finally happens. The Impala actually moves. It's not much; he sits in the doorway now, rather than stands, but it's the most interesting thing that has happened so far. I curl my legs beneath me, letting my skin soak up the weak sunlight. It doesn't last long, though; a dark gray cloud covers it, and I shiver again. I'd been wearing light pajamas when they'd stolen me, definitely nothing cut out for this. I chew my bottom lip, which is chapped from the cold and lack of water. My stomach growls again, but I ignore it. It's harder this time, though.

As the hours pass, I start pacing again. I haven't spoken to the Impala since before last night, and he hasn't spoken to me. The silence, his ever-watching eye is driving me insane. There are so many questions I need answered. Is he going to feed me? Give me water? How long will I be here? Why are they doing this to me, of all things? I manage not to ask these questions for a few hours, but I finally crack under that eye.

"How long am I going to be here?" I finally snarl, whipping around, my voice raspy and dry. He just stares at me. "Stop _looking_ at me!" It's as though I haven't spoken. He doesn't even flinch, doesn't blink, doesn't so much as twitch. I'm bored out of my mind, going crazy, trying to make sense of this. Had Laserbeak decided to torture me, I would be able to understand that. But _this?_ I don't get it.

I notice some rocks on the ground, and I kick them around, organize them into patterns to pass the time. The worst thing is not having a timeline to go by. I have no idea how much time I have left of this—whatever _this_ is. As night falls on the second day, I'm feeling lightheaded and dehydrated. My stomach _hurts_, is completely empty. I've faced worse, I'm sure, living with the Decepticons, but still.

Wait. Maybe _that's _the point. I've been pampered since I'd left them. This would have been _no_ problem before. We'd moved around so often, and I'd been with Barricade, who'd never been sympathetic to my human needs. I'd spent days starving. But now… now I'd grown soft. I can't handle two measly days without food or water? I'm ashamed of myself. I'm stronger than this.

I'm freezing again. Nights are cold, but I don't want to pace to keep warm. I need to conserve my energy, because now I'm sure that I won't be fed or watered. I think I've got them figured out, but I will _not_ crack. There must be a point to this, something they want me to understand, something they want me to do. Is that it? I need to be resourceful? I need to be stronger? I have no idea. Laserbeak is so twisted, I may never figure it out.

I grab a rock in my fist and hurl it at the Impala. It hits his foot with a sharp _ping!_ and bounces off in the dirt. He ignores me at first as I throw a few more rocks. But finally he shifts away from them. When I don't stop, he gives me an annoyed look, something like a growl rumbling through him. When I _still_ don't stop, he stands and slams his fists down on either side of me, very close to my body. The message is clear; he can and _will_ kill me.

So I stop throwing rocks.

"You know," I manage to chatter as night draws on, "has anyone ever told you that you're not the best company?" He blinks at me, but otherwise doesn't respond. I sigh. "They're going to come looking for me," I tell him, "I don't know what your plan is, but it can't last forever."

That eye doesn't turn away from me.

Sunrise comes, and I move into a square of light. But the light is dull and gray, filtered by storm clouds. Thunder rumbles. Or maybe it was my stomach. I can't be sure. I close my eyes and lay back in the dirt. I need a shower. I need food. I need water. It had been so long since I'd starved; I'd forgotten how horrible it is. I grit my teeth against the pain. I want to cry, but my body can't formulate the tears. I curl in on myself after a while, huddled against the chill and the pain.

Doesn't this guy ever _sleep_? The hunger pains are so bad that I've decided I _have_ to try to escape. I'm so dehydrated, I'm not sure how much longer I can make it. Humans can't go long without water. I'm at my limits, I'm sure. I get to my feet, and that eye is still watching me. I want to scream. Day in and day out, it is always watching me. I'm not that interesting. What on earth is he _looking_ at?

I glance around at the windows. They're big enough for me to climb through. I might not make it far, or even out of the window, but I have to try. Maybe something will change, at least. I can't stand this monotony. I'm feeling panicky, not knowing how much longer this will last. I face the Impala again, frantic. Our eyes meet, and then I look at the closest, lowest window, then back at him. He shakes his head minutely. My leg muscles tense and cramp. Window. Impala. Head shake. I have to risk it.

I bolt for the window, thrown when the Impala doesn't so much as budge. I pull myself up and through it and take off running. There's no one, nothing around me. No civilization. But I run.

And then the Impala is there, his fist closing around my middle. I scream and fight and kick as he walks me casually back to the barn, where he tosses me gently back inside, taking his post at the door again. I roll from the impact, covered in dirt, whirling around to face him. His expression is menacing as he looms over me.

"So, what?" I demand. "That's it? You're going to break my legs now?" Of all my escape attempts in all my life, that had to be my worst. I'm panting, exhausted, weak, trembling. He walks closer to me and picks me up. I wiggle and scream, but it's no use.

He brings me up to his face, his one red eye casting my skin in an eerie glow. I swallow and snarl at him. And then the strangest thing happens. His menacing eye softens slightly, his face relaxing. He closes that one eye, and when it opens, there's something like—like_ sympathy_ on his face. I swallow.

"Are you going to hurt me?" I ask him. "Just do it already."

Very slightly, almost regretfully, he shakes his head. Again, I'm thrown. I don't understand. But, instead of harming me or breaking my legs, he does something even _more_ astounding. He places me on the ground and walks past me, leaven an open path for escape. He moves into a dark corner, shuffling around, and I seize the opportunity again. I run.

He doesn't make a move to stop me, even though he must know I've made another break for it. Of course, there's no rush. I'm not going anywhere; there's nowhere to go. A few moments later I feel the earth trembling beneath my feet. And then his fist closing around me again, walking me back toward the barn, depositing me on the ground. My legs are trembling violently. I'm not sure if I can run again. I stare up at him, collapsed as I am on my back. He just looks at me, a length of rope dangling from one hand; it looks like a noose. My heart flutters.

"What's that for?" I ask quietly. He doesn't answer. Instead, he lifts me up again and fits the noose over my head and neck, then forces it down past my pinned arms until it's at the smallest part of my waist, against my skin, beneath my shirt. And then he puts me back on the ground, the noose tight around my waist. I pull against it, enraged and confused as he holds the other end of the length in his hand. It's maybe twenty feet long, leftover from whoever had used this barn. As I tug, it tightens, and I gasp.

"What is _this_?" I demand, clawing at it, but it is tied in such a way that I can't escape it. He just watches me, holding the length between his two fingers. I glare at him. And then, slowly, I relax. "Is this a… _leash?_" I ask slowly, lifting the slack in my hands. I look up at him, and he looks satisfied with himself. I swallow. I'm so confused.

"Why… why didn't you do what Laserbeak said?" His eye darkens and he looks away from me for the first time. We don't speak, then. Instead, like an animal, I wander, tugging the 'leash,' testing my limits. I can't get far, and I can't escape, but it's better than broken legs, which I don't understand. Why hadn't he hurt me?

Night falls again; my third night. By this point, I'm so exhausted and weak that I can't do much. I've flopped down on my belly like a defeated dog, my leash grasped firmly in the hands of my master, stretched tight between us. I'm panting softly against the crippling pain in my stomach, against the raging headache. My mouth feels like it's full of sand. I swallow thickly. Thunder rumbles, but there's no rain. Not yet.

My rope tugs slightly and I groan. The Impala must be moving or something, but I don't have the energy to look. I wonder, vaguely, if the Autobots will ever come for me. I wonder if I'll die here, or starve. I wonder how far I'll be pushed. Metal groans and my rope tugs again. When I don't respond, it gives a sudden jerk, dragging me back a few feet. I yelp and roll over, my chest heaving.

"Leave—me—alone," I manage around my parched throat. He watches me for a moment. I can't find the energy to be afraid of him. Finally, he tilts his head, his face creasing slightly. There's a series of clicks and whirrs, and then a compartment in his chest pops open loudly and something shoots out. I cry out and duck as whatever it is lands a few feet away from me. He tugs the rope again and I stir, looking around. He nods at the object, and when I see it, I don't understand.

A water bottle?

I glance at it, then at him, uncertain. He nods very slightly, and I lunge for it. I wonder if it's a trick, then decide I don't care. I can't go on much longer without water. I rip the cap off and chug a few mouthfuls, forcing myself to stop. I don't want to make myself sick, even though it pains me to control myself and not drink it all at once. When I'm done with my little bit, I wipe my mouth and stare up at him.

"Were you… were you supposed to do that?" I get the impression that he was definitely _not_ supposed to do that. He shakes his head, looking away from me again. I'm confused. "Why?" I ask. "Why? Why aren't you…" I don't know how to finish. Cruel? Mean? Cold?

Suddenly I realize this isn't the first time he's helped me out. In a flash of inspiration, it becomes clear. He hadn't broken my legs, even though his instructions had been to break them if I tried to escape, which I had—twice. He'd given me water, when he'd been ordered to let me suffer. And the other day, when Savannah had come home. He had been there, but he hadn't told Laserbeak. If he had, my life would be very, very different. Savannah would probably be dead. And that first night I had followed him; he hadn't hurt me. He had simply motioned for me to leave.

What else is this robot hiding?

I swallow, and for the first time, _he_ seems uncomfortable under _my_ gaze. My lips part in shock, but I don't mention it. I'm sure I'm over thinking this. It's all in my head—I'm going a little crazy from the hunger. Right?

The night grows darker, and I've taken to shivering. It's finally started raining, and the rain leaks through the old roof, soaking me through with the icy water. I shiver, but there's nowhere to take cover. It's so cold that it's almost painful. I huddle up, my arms folded over my head, and I just try to _sleep_. But I can't. It takes a while, but then there's another tug on my rope. I swipe water out of my eyes and glance at the Impala. His face is sympathetic again, but determined. He tugs the rope almost insistently, dragging me a few feet through the mud before he scoops me up. I tense, but he just cups his hands around me, shielding me from the icy rain, shrouding me in warmth.

For a moment I just sit there, waiting for him to crush me or drop me. But he doesn't. So then I'm mostly just confused. _Why is he doing this?_ I can't make sense of it.

He doesn't pet me or stroke me. He doesn't speak to me. He simply keeps me out of the rain, which is more than I would ever have expected. Hell, him saving my legs was more than I would have had any right to expect.

After a couple of hours, the rain stops. He sets me down in the mud, and I take a few steps back. Hunger makes me stomach twist, makes me head pound. I down some more water, but I don't take my eyes off of him.

"Why are you doing this?" I croak after a moment. He doesn't respond, just watches me before looking away. He looks conflicted. I take a step forward, feeling brave; if he wanted to kill me, or hurt me, he would have done so by now. "You—you're different from the rest. Aren't you?"

He raises his one good eye to look at me, eyebrows furrowed, face drawn. He sighs heavily, the warm air whooshing over my body, warming me. He sits and leans against the barn wall, my rope still in his hands. His shoulders droop slightly.

And then he nods.

"Why?" I ask, my heart hammering. He's different. "_Why?_" He looks lost for a moment, lost in his head, in some distant memory. I take a few cautious steps back, staring up at this giant, suddenly unnerved as his face darkens. He doesn't answer, but turns his face to the side, exposing his ruined, scarred metal. "Is that why?" I ask softly. "Did they do that to you?"

Eye closed, he shakes his head. His fist clenches around my rope. He takes a deep breath before re-opening his eye and looking at me. He makes a low grating noise.

"Can you—can you speak?" I ask him. He nods. My rope is slack between us, but he's still holding the end. "I don't understand," I tell him. "You're different. Why?" Suddenly it clicks. Of _course!_ He must be a spy. "Are you an Autobot?" I can't hide the elation in my voice, but that elation dissipates. He jerks his head back, good eye narrowed, and makes a horrible, grating, snarling noise. "_Okay, okay_," I say quickly, holding up my hands. "Sorry. Not an Autobot. Got it."

The Impala nods slowly. I swallow. "What's your name?" He raises a finger to his mouth. I blink. "Sorry," I mumble, but he shakes his head and waves his finger slightly. "I don't—_oh_. Your name?" He nods. "Shh?" He shakes his head. "Um… Hush?" He shakes his head again. "Quiet?" He pinches his fingers together. Close. "Silent? Yes? No. Close. Um… is it _Silence?_"

He nods.

"Silence," I breathe. "Your name is Silence?"

Another nod. "But you can speak?" Nod. "Will you?" He shakes his head. "Why not?" No answer. "Okay," I breathe. "Okay. Silence. _Silence_." I continue to try out the name, and for a while we don't say anything to each other. I pace, my mind racing. This robot—this _Silence_. He's different. He's not an Autobot—he had clearly been repulsed by the idea. But he isn't cruel, either. He'd admitted to being different.

"You," I say slowly, carefully. "You don't like Laserbeak, do you?" He shakes his head very slowly, cautiously. "But you work for him?" He shrugs. I sigh. "What is your story?" I murmur to myself, running a hand over my face. "Are you loyal to Megatron?"

His one good eye holds mine steadily. He doesn't nod. He doesn't shake his head. He just stares and then looks away. Something like pain flickers over his face and then disappears.

This is all good information to know, but it's not getting me anywhere. If anything, I'm even more confused. "Silence. What do you know about his plan?"

He just looks at me. I'm not getting anything out of him this way. "Are you loyal to the _Autobots?_" I venture. He slams one hand into the ground, looking outraged again. I yelp. So, that's another no. Whoever Silence is, whatever his story is, he doesn't like the Autobots. Still furious, he gestures to his face.

"_They_ did that to you? The Autobots?" He nods slowly, his fingers clenching. "What happened?" Nothing. No response. I grit my teeth. "Come on," I urge, "you gotta help me out here."

He turns his head to face me again, his eye calculating. "Are there others like you? Silence, I need to know."

He hesitates, then gives another one of his barely-there nods. I swallow thickly. _Oh my God._ Maybe… maybe this isn't anything like I've thought. Maybe there are others out there like Silence, others who aren't entirely twisted. I have to believe that.

"What happened to you?" I sigh softly. I reach forward and very carefully touch his foot. He shifts away, shaking his head. "Thank you," I breathe after a while. "I know now that you've been helping me. So… thanks."

Silence presses a finger to his mouth. "I won't tell," I promise. He nods, and we settle into the quiet night. The next few hours pass in relative silence. I can't stop thinking. Silence. He isn't an Autobot. But he's not like the Decepticons. I can't stop wondering about his past, wondering about his scars, wondering why he is the way he is. I get the impression of _age_ from him. Not _old_, old, but not young, either. But he's seen a lot; that much is clear in his one red eye.

It's around midday the next day when Silence pokes me awake and frees me from my leash. He gestures for me to keep my mouth shut, giving me a dangerous look, and I nod. He takes my water away, and sure enough, a few minutes later, Laserbeak returns. I don't have to fake my weakness or my sickness; I've got a head cold because of the rain and the cold. He perches in the rafters again.

"How are you feeling?" He coos at me.

"Go die," I grumble.

"Oh?" His voice is soft, lilting. "Is that anyway to speak to me? How about another few days here, hmm?"

"How about _fuck you,_ take me home?"

He snarls, and Silence makes an odd noise. Then the strangest sound comes from him, but I recognize it for what it is. He's speaking Cybertronian. Laserbeak tilts his head, listening, and then rolls his eyes and speaks Cybertronian right back at him. Then the shifts his wings and stares down at me.

"Fine," he says. "Pity. I thought you'd be stronger. But I can't have you dying on me, can I?"

I shrug. "Megs might not be happy."

"He might not." He flutters down and lands beside my legs. I don't have the energy to move them. He inspects them, notes that they're whole and intact. "You didn't try to escape?" I shake my head and he sighs heavily. "I am disappointed in you, plaything. I thought you'd be so much harder to _break_."

I kick him in the face. It's sharp and unexpected, but I kick him as hard as I can. He shrieks and I chuckle.

"How's that for broken?"

He lifts a talon to swipe it across my face, but then Silence rumbles and Laserbeak contains himself. Furiously, he flaps his wings, eyes bright, before turning away from me and lashing me with his tail. "Take her home," he snarls at Silence. Then he glances at me over his shoulder. "Stay healthy," he says tightly. "Your time to participate in this plan is nearly upon us. You must be strong when the time comes."

I nod weakly. I want to point out that it's _his_ fault that I'm sick, but I don't. "Oh," he says brightly, "one more thing. Let's not have any more sleepovers, yes? Very good."

I glare after him as he takes to the air and soars away. Silence approaches me and transforms, and after a moment, I'm able to gather my legs beneath me and haul myself into his backseat, where I stretch out and fall asleep, trying not to think about what, exactly, Megatron's plan for me is. Instead, I focus on Silence, on what I had learned. _There are others like him_. And if that's true, I know one thing for certain:

I need to contact them.


	44. Chapter 44

**NOTE: Thanks for all the positive feedback, guys! I'm glad you like Silence! Personally, I adore him. **

**Just know that for a teensy tiny while, the focus won't be entirely on OP/Parker, because the plot is shifting in a new direction. Also, some huge things happen in this chapter; Parker meets my other Robo-OCs. I adore each and every one of them. And I had to introduce them quickly, because things are starting to pick up and we'll be getting into the third movie soon.**

**Anyways. About my OC robots. I seriously adore them. They're such a ragtag group! I hope none of their names are taken, so PLEASE tell me if they are part of the actual TF fandom!**

**ALSO: A note on Legacy's accent. I picture it as really, really, really thick British. Like Russell Brand, but even more dramatic, so that it borders on annoying. I wrote it out that way as best I could. I hope you're able to understand it!**

Chapter 44

I'd gotten home safe and sound. Laserbeak had thankfully called into work sick for me, feigning my voice. Now I'd had to call in sick _again_, because I really _am_ sick. When I'd come home, I'd gone straight to the kitchen and eaten everything and anything I could get my hands on. And then, of course, it had made me sick and I'd thrown up. Then I had showered, then eaten again, more slowly this time.

And now, two days later, I'm sprawled on the couch, trying to breathe through my clogged sinuses. I hate being sick; it's absolutely disgusting. But I have to pull myself together; Optimus is coming over. With a groan, I sit up from the couch, getting a nasty head rush. I have to tell him everything, of course. But first I need to speak with Silence, who is parked in my driveway since Ronnie isn't home.

Dressed in a warm sweatshirt and baggie sweatpants, my hair stuffed in a beanie, I make my way out to Silence. I've been talking to him almost constantly since I'd been returned back home, but he never talks _back_, which makes actually conversation pretty difficult. But I'd asked him about the others like him, and I'd been surprised to learn that, apparently, there are quite a few out there. It had taken some time for me to pluck up the nerve, but I'd finally made the suggestion:

"I mean an _uprising_, Silence," I tell him, resting my hand on the grill. So far, he hasn't been listening. "Not a big battle, but a silent revolution. Don't you think it can be done?"

He makes a low sound. He's not like Bumblebee. I don't know how to interpret him, but I'm pretty sure the sound is negative. I groan. "Are you afraid of Megatron? Is that it?" Another low groan, but this one sounds like a confirmation. "Okay, okay. I get that. And I don't _want_ to go against him. But if he's planning a battle, Silence—and I don't _know_, because you won't _tell_ me—I can't let the Autobots get hurt. If there are Decepticons out there who don't entirely support him… well, it only makes sense!"

He bumps me and I swallow, my throat burning. I hate sore throats. "Silence," I sigh. "Think about it. We just need someone to lead us, you know?"

He transforms, then, getting down on one knee in front of me. I'm not sure how I'd ever missed the kindness in his eyes before, the uncertainty there, the weariness only soldiers know. It makes me sad.

"This can work," I murmur, touching my hand to his outstretched finger. "I really think it can. It doesn't have to be violent. No one has to get hurt. But if Decepticons suddenly _stop_ working for him, then he can't do anything! No one gets hurt anymore!"

He shakes his head at me.

"What about the others," I demand. "What do they think? Surely I'm not the _only_ one thinking this."

He goes still, and I grin. It's all the confirmation I need.

"You know the others, don't you? Personally? Or at least some of them. I want to meet them."

I don't know why I say this. Maybe I'm hoping to convince them to just _stop_. And, if what Laserbeak says is true, I'm running _seriously_ short on time. I open my mouth to say something else, and then I hear Optimus's engine. Silence's face goes cold, livid.

"He's here," I tell him. "Scram!" He gives me a serious look. "I won't tell him anything, don't worry. But get out of here!"

He folds in on himself, settling back into the Impala before he drives away, leaving me alone with Optimus as he pulls up. He's not technically _supposed_ to, but now that we're somewhat allies, he's giving me some leniency. I rush Optimus when I see him, glad, having missed him since he'd been gone.

"Hi," I say, pressing my body against the grill. His gentle chuckle drifts out to me before I back up and he transforms. "I have so much to tell you."

He gets down on one knee, bracing his hand on the pavement. I lean against it, stroking it fondly, feeling suddenly incredibly energized in spite of my cold. The news of other Decepticons like Silence has me almost frantic with my need to meet them, to do something of worth with them.

"Are you ill?"

"Yeah," I say, shrugging. His eyebrows crease in concern, and I wave him away. "It's not too bad, though. Nothing I can't handle." I step into him and hug his leg. "I missed you. A lot."

"I missed you, too," he says fondly. "What did you need to tell me?"

He lifts me to his face. I make sure I'm alone (out of habit. I'm trusting Silence not to set me up) and then I spill; I tell him about my kidnapping and my starvation and dehydration and sickness. His fist clenches furiously, but I calm him down, needing to tell him about Silence.

"The Impala," I gasp excitedly. "Optimus, he's not _really_ one of them. I mean, technically, he _is_, but he's different. He's—well, not a rebel, exactly, but he could be."

"What gives you that idea?" Optimus's voice is cautious.

"He saved me," I whisper. "More than once. And I asked him. He—he doesn't speak. He refuses to. But his name is Silence, which fits him I guess, because he never talks. And he says there are others like them, and—"

"You're babbling," he says, his voice deep and affectionate as he touches a finger to my lips. I grin and bite my lower lip. "Perhaps I should speak with him—"

"No," I say quickly. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Well, for one, he told me not to tell you," I say, holding up a finger. "Two, he doesn't like the Autobots. Three, one of your guys like destroyed his face, so I'm pretty sure he's not gonna be too friendly. But there are others like him. I want to meet them. Just think of what it could mean!"

Optimus looks concerned.

"I don't know that… that's the best idea," he says slowly.

"What do you mean?"

"Doesn't it seem too convenient?" He asks slowly. "Too coincidental?"

I think about this for a moment. "Maybe," I say. "But… I have to try it, right?"

"Unless it's a test," he says pointedly. "In which case, you would fail. Forgive me, but I haven't known Megatron to be the forgiving type."

I sigh, rolling my eyes. "So, what? You think I should pass it up? Not meet the ones who could potentially help us?"

"I don't know that they could help—"

"Of course they could help!" Optimus blinks at me. "Don't you see? Optimus—we don't have to _fight_—" He closes his eyes at this, rubbing his forehead. "If there are others out there who work for Megatron but don't _support_ him," I go on firmly, "it could help us."

"And what, exactly, do you plan to do?" He asks, his voice almost harsh. "Start an uprising? A revolution?" _Well, yeah…_ "Parker, you should know better than anyone that placing your trust in the Decepticons isn't the best of ideas."

For some reason, this hurts. I sniff and look away from him, tilting my chin up defiantly. "Funny," I snap. "But the Decepticons were there for me when no one else was. _Megatron_ saved my life, if you remember right. So, forgive me if I want to save his, too."

Optimus goes still, and I realize I've said the wrong thing. I close my eyes and hang my head, ashamed.

"What do you mean by that?" He speaks very slowly, and I feel suddenly like I'm tip-toeing through a field of landmines. One wrong move…

"Nothing. I—I mean…" I pause, then bite my lip, determined. I should _not_ have to hide this. I look back up at Optimus, meeting his eyes squarely. "When it comes right down to it, I choose you. Always. You _know_ that." He nods slowly. "But would I prefer it if I didn't have to choose? Yes. Would I do _anything_ to stop the epic showdown that I know is going to happen between you two? _Yes_. Because—no offense to your fighting skills or anything—I'm afraid of losing you. But I'm afraid of losing him, too."

I take a deep breath. "So, yeah. I'm sorry if I don't want you two to fight it out. Sorry if I just want to stop that day from coming."

For a moment, we are both silent and still. I look away from him, and the silence hangs between us for a while. I cough and my head pounds, and I jump slightly when I feel his massive finger stroking along my spine; up and down, up and down, his eyes focused on me, but dark, lost somewhere.

"I would do anything," he says gently, "not to put you through that. I would give anything to keep you from having to choose."

"Thanks," I whisper, then clear my throat and shrug. "But, whatever, right? This is a war. Shit happens. And I choose you. Always."

His breath whooshes over my body and warms me, and I look up into his face with a timid smile. His face softens.

"As it is," he says, "this war has reached the point where there _is_ no avoiding our… 'epic showdown,' as you put it. That day _will_ come, Parker. Eventually."

"I know." I shift in his hand, rub my hands softly over his thumb. "But what d'you say? I really, _really_ think I should try to meet them."

"It could be a trap."

"He's never tried to trap me before," I point out, both to prove my point, and in a sorry attempt to get Optimus to see goodness in his brother. "He's always taken care of me. I don't see that changing out of the blue."

"And what if this—_Silence—_has been lying to you all along? What if he isn't really on your side?"

"It's possible," I admit. "But at this point, I have _no_ reason to believe that."

We watch each other for a moment.

"Come on," I urge.

"You'll do it even if I say no, won't you?"

"Normally, yes," I say with a quick smile. "But that would entail lying, and I promised not to do that anymore. So, as much as it would _pain_ me to sit back and do _nothing,_ I would."

His eyes widen fractionally, and he nods to himself. "But, think about it. I could do something useful. I'll tell you everything I find out. We might have more allies here, Optimus. Wouldn't that be great?"

"It would be," he concedes, nodding.

"I need you to treat me as an equal here," I say firmly. "Like an adult. I can handle this. I'm not useless, you know. Let me do something helpful."

"I have never thought of you as anything less," he says gently, bringing my forehead to his mouth and resting it there for a moment. I rub his palm slowly, waiting for the verdict. He groans lowly.

"Alright," he says. "Tactically speaking, it would do us well to know that there are Decepticons that are potential rebels. You… you should try to find them." It sounds like he's trying to choke the words past his lips, but I gasp in joy. I kiss the length of his lower lip, whispering "thank you" in between the kisses, and he chuckles.

"Do not put yourself in danger, please," he groans. "I am doing this because I trust you. Please don't make me regret it."

"You won't," I tell him, kissing his forehead now. "I promise."

He pulls me away and I watch him fondly for a moment, thinking in wonder about how things have changed between us. He's showing me so much trust lately; he's truly treating me as an equal. I will _not_ squash that.

"Oh," I say a while later. "One more thing." I lower my voice. "Megatron's plan… it's going to happen soon. Laserbeak said it wouldn't be much longer."

Something like a low growl ripples though him and I rub my hands over his cheek. "I won't let him take you."

"I know," I say. "But… maybe you _should_. I've been thinking about it."

His head snaps to me, and all of a sudden he looks at me like he's looking at a stranger.

"I mean—" I stammer quickly, "I don't want you fighting for me! If he wants me, he's going to take me. Just—maybe don't fight it?"

"That is ridiculous," he says stiffly. "I will _not_ allow him to take you."

And I can see, right now, that the conversation is over. Not because he wants it to be, but because I know now isn't the time to discuss it. We still have time. But I _have_ been thinking about it, and the more I think about it, the more I realize I _have_ to go with him, when he comes for me. It just makes _sense_, but I don't try and voice it again. I'll wait for another day. I've already asked for enough as it is.

Eventually, it comes time to part ways, considering the no-sleepover rule. So I Cybertronian-kiss him goodbye and watch him leave before I head inside. Ronnie comes home about an hour or two later, and I'm asleep on the couch when she does. She pokes me awake and I move to my room, leaving my window open for Laserbeak. His visits have been inconsistent lately, though, so I don't have to worry too much about seeing him tonight.

Which is why I'm extremely annoyed when a tapping at my window wakes me. With a groan I roll over and sit up, glaring at the window. I jump when I realize that it isn't Laserbeak—it's _Silence_. I get up and pad quietly to the window.

"Silence," I murmur, "what are you doing?"

He gestures for me to come out, then offers me his hand. Trusting him, I climb on and he sets me on the ground. He looks out toward the road, then at me, pointedly, and transforms, the door popping open. I swallow, and he revs his engine.

"Okay, okay," I growl, climbing in nervously. "Where are you taking me?"

Of course, I don't get a reply. There is no sound as he drives me away. I can only hope that I've been right in giving him my trust. After a while, I realize he's taking me to the place where I'd discovered him when I'd followed him. The abandoned, creepy area. Soon enough, we've reached an old, abandoned warehouse. He stops gently and opens the door, signaling for me to climb out. When I do, he transforms again and walks toward the warehouse, glancing at me once with that one red eye. I follow quickly, nervously sticking closely to his side.

We enter the dark warehouse, the only light supplied by his lights. And we wait. I'm not sure what we're waiting for, but we wait. I lean against one of the hard crates, my heart fluttering, telling myself that everything will be okay, that there must be a reason for this.

Finally I hear something. It's the cough of a really, _really_ old engine, and it backfires as it grows closer. I glance up at Silence, but his face betrays nothing. He stands and opens up the huge warehouse door, and I watch as headlights illuminate the darkness for a moment. I catch a glimpse of an old car—a _really_ old car, an electric blue Shelby Cobra with white racing stripes. I stare for a moment before the familiar sound of someone transforming fills the air, and the shape of a red-eyed robot takes the Cobra's place.

The robot is tall with the same electric blue armor the car wears, though there's something different about its body—something distinctly feminine. It blinks at me, its doorwings—like bumblebee, it has doorwings—fluttering and shifting before it gets down on one knee before me, inspecting me, before standing and turning to Silence.

"Silence," it says in a decidedly feminine voice. It's not the loveliest of voices, but it isn't horrible. It's just… plain. Blank. Curt, that's the word I'm looking for. She's got a curt, no-bullshit voice, something like what I would expect my grandmother to have, if I knew her. Silence inclines his head to her, and then she goes about ignoring me. She's about Silence's height, with a slightly more slender build.

I'm distracted from watching her, though, as another rumbling engine steals my attention. I glance up just in time to watch a camouflage-painted Yamaha Grizzly speed around the corner, transforming and landing on all fours in front of me, crouching with a snarl.

I flinch back. It's one of the tiger-things! It growls in my face before Silence nudges it gently. Its tail twitches and it glances up at him, and I swear it chuckles before it paces away, coming to rest beside the transformed Cobra.

And then we wait some more. No one speaks much. The Cobra says a few words to the ATV, but that's it. Silence makes an impatient sound, and then I'm startled as I hear a soft purr, a steady buzz of a high-horsepower engine. My jaw drops as a sexy, sleek, SSC Ultimate Aero speeds around the corner (my obsession with cars is something I'm _finally_ not ashamed of), fishtailing and swerving, coming to a dead stop about three inches in front of me. I shriek and press against the wall and the Cobra chuckles. Slowly, the white Aero unfolds, red eyes bright, mouth smirking.

I've never, ever seen a robot more _obviously_ female. And, even in her robot form, she somehow manages to maintain some of her vehicle sexiness. She's all sleek curves and angles, all confidence and cocky demeanor.

"Hey, Silence," she says, giving him a nod as she backs up and away from me, still smirking. Even her _voice_ is sexy. "We all here?"

"No," says the Cobra. "We're still waiting on—"

Tires screech, and another set of bright lights blinds me for a moment. It takes me a second to realize that it's a motorcycle—a black Ducati 999, to be more specific. It screeches to a stop at the Aero's feet, splashing her with dirt and dust.

"Ick," she says furiously, shaking her foot at the Ducati, who transforms quickly into a shockingly _small_ robot, maybe six and a half feet tall, tops. I'm even more stunned when the small, black, red-eyed robot turns to face me and the strangest thing happens. Skin seems to cover him, a lot like the holograms, except that it goes _over_ his metal, complete with clothing; he's dressed like a biker, of course, but a _sexy_ biker, clad in black jeans, black boots, and a black leather jacket. He has a crooked smirk and stunning white teeth, pale skin and jet black hair, his eyes large and dark. He quirks me a dimpled smirk.

"_Hallo!_"

I just blink at him. The Aero snorts and rolls her eyes in disgust. I can only stare at the Ducati-slash-robot-slash-man. It takes me a moment to realize that he's like Alice had been. What had she called herself? A pretender? Something like that.

And then I have to stare some more, because of his _accent_. I would have never imagined something like _that_ coming out of someone like him.

"About time you showed up," the Aero drawls.

"Ay," he says, giving her a dirty look. "Why don' _you_ jus' shut yah trap, hm?"

She growls lowly, and Silence steps between them. The Ducati grins at me again and offers me his hand. I shake it timidly.

"Me name's Legacy, luv," he says brightly. "So nice to meet ya. You must be Parker, yes?" The way he says my name is so strange, but I sort of like it. He doesn't fully pronounce the r's, so it sounds like Pah-kuh.

"Yes," I say softly. "Um—"

"Oh, right, right," he says quickly. "You 'ave no idea why yer 'ere, do ya?"

"Not a clue."

He grins. "We're the ones you've been _waitin_' for, darlin'."

I'd sort of suspected as much, but actually standing here with them is enthralling. But there are only five of them, including Silence. "This… this is it?"

"Ah—no," he says, "no, definitely not. We're still missin' Cutfroat."

"_Cutthroat?"_

"Yep," Legacy chirps. "Nasty little bugger, 'e is, but damn useful all the same, ain't that right?" He looks to the others for support, and they all nod. Except for the Aero. She just glares. "Jus' one fing," he says, and, again, I'm thrown by his accent again. The _th_ sound becomes an _f_ sound. I smile, only because the accent is more than a little amusing. Cutthroat sounds _much_ less intimidating when it's pronounced _Cutfroat_. "Just—don't judge a book by its cover, a'right?"

"Sure," I say slowly.

"Ah," Legacy says, glancing skyward just as a loud, high buzzing fills the air. "'e's 'ere."

I follow Legacy's eyes and am completely _stunned_, once again, when a small, remote-controlled helicopter comes zooming in, propeller whirling. It's maybe three feet long, total, and it transforms in midair, dropping down until the Aero catches it.

It's still tiny, no taller than three feet, standing. _That's_ Cutthroat?

He glares at me, the blades on his back still whirring. I swallow and take a step back, and Legacy laughs.

"Is this everyone?"

"This is everyone who's comin'," he says, nodding. "There's more o' us, but not everyone wan'ed ta risk bein' caught, y'know?"

"Right."

"Let's start, shall we? Ah'll do the introductions," he sings brightly. "You a'ready know Silence, and you know Ah'm Legacy. Let's start wif Cutfroat."

"Okay," I say softly.

"Oy! Cutfroat! Pay attention!"

Cutthroat, who seems to be in a perpetual state of _motion_, moving as fast as his helicopter blades, snaps his attention to us.

"This is Parker," Legacy says. "Come down 'ere an' meet 'er."

Cutthroat leaps down from the Aero's hand and scales Legacy's body. He walks on two skinny legs, which end in something like claws. Two scrawny arms keep him balanced, and his tiny red eyes are set in a small, jittery-looking face.

"Hello," he says in a small, froglike voice. It's so absurd that I almost want to laugh.

"Hi," I say softly.

"Cutfroat's a flyboy," Legacy says proudly. "Special ops an' whatnot. 'e gets inta small places where none o' us can really get to. Bloody useful."

Cutthroat puffs up proudly before Legacy shakes him off. He motions the tiger-bot forward. "This 'ere's Whiplash." Whiplash growls lowly at me, flexing his claws. I swallow. Legacy motions at the bright blue female, who had been the Cobra. "This's _Allure_."

"Hello," she says, stepping forward and crouching down on one knee in front of me. "I've heard a lot about you."

"From who?"

"Word gets around," she says. There's something about her—she just doesn't seem the Decepticon _type_. The Aero, on the other hand—

"An' _she_," Legacy says in a dreamlike voice, motioning at said Aero, "_she_ is Fishtail."

Fishtail steps forward as Allure falls back. She stoops down to my level, glancing me up and down, then gives a snort.

"_This_ is Megatron's little pet?" She spits. She looks repulsed, and I glare at her.

"Enough, Fishtail," Allure growls. I take back what I said about her not seeming like a Decepticon. Her voice is suddenly terrifying. Fishtail gives me a disdainful sniff before backing off to stand with the others. I take them all in—an old Impala, an old Cobra, an RC helicopter, a sexy British Ducati, an ATV, and a stunning, bitchy Aero.

"A'right," Legacy says, clapping his human hands together and making me jump. "Let's get started, shall we?"

"Yes," says Fishtail. "Let's. You wanted to meet us, fleshling, and here we are. What, pray tell, do you plan to do with the information you have regarding us?"

"I don't know." Fishtail snorts, throwing her hands up as if to say, _See? I told you so._ I glare at her. "I have a few questions, actually," I say stiffly.

"Shoot," says Cutthroat. I swallow nervously.

"Okay," I say, steeling myself. I glance up at Silence, suddenly nervous, and he gives me a small nod. "You—you're all Decepticons?"

"Wow," Fishtail drawls, "and here I thought I was dealing with a stupid, hairless ape. Wonderful observation. Tell me, did the decals give us away? Or was it the red eyes?"

Okay. She's _seriously_ starting to piss me off. Legacy snickers, and Fishtail shoots him a dark look.

"What I _mean_," I drawl angrily, "is are you all entirely _loyal_ to the Decepticons?" No sense in beating around the bush. I notice that they all shift awkwardly—all except for Fishtail, who is staring me down, challenge in her eyes. "Or are you like Silence said you were?"

Allure shrugs. "We're caught in the middle, I suppose," she says gently.

"Then why are you on the Decepticons' side?"

Allure sighs softly, sitting down. "What you need to understand," she says slowly, "is that we are not _all_ made to be soldiers."

"What do you mean?"

"She _means_," Legacy pipes up, "that we didn' exactly jump at the chance to enlist for the Decepticons."

"I don't understand."

"You may want to take a seat," Cutthroat croaks. "This is a long story."

"Wait," Fishtail says. "I don't know about this. We don't even _know_ her! She is Megatron's pet. Who is to say she isn't a spy?"

Silence speaks up in Cybertronian. "Exactly," Allure says, nodding. "She is defiant of Laserbeak, Fishtail. Who do you think she'll tell? She is one of us."

Fishtail snorts delicately. "I don't trust her."

"They why are you _here?_" Allure demands, flexing her fingers. "No one forced you to be here, Fishtail. You can leave."

"I have to be here," she mutters lowly. "You _know_ that."

"Then be silent," Allure snarls before turning to me. "Can we trust you, Parker Rook?"

"Can I trust _you_, Allure?"

Her eyes are calculating as she scans me up and down. Silence nods his approval, and Allure smirks slightly. "We shall see."

**NOTE: Just for your reference, in case you want to look up the cars/get confused on who's who:**

_**Legacy – Black Ducati 999**_  
><em><strong>Fishtail - SSC Ultimate Aero (white)<strong>_  
><em><strong>Allure – Shelby Cobra (elevtric blue, white racing stripes)<strong>_  
><em><strong>Whiplash – Yamaha Grizzly (Camouflage)<strong>_  
><em><strong>Silence - Black 1967 Chevy Impala<strong>_


End file.
